The Naphil's Kiss (5 page)

“Thank you,” he told the boy. “What is your name?”

“Tom,” the youth replied, tossing a strand of shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.

Lucien nodded to Tom and entered the compound. The letter he'd received told him to meet the elder council in their meeting room, so he went directly there.

Inside, Lucien found Mr. Smith waiting for him. Lucien was shocked by how old he'd become. Even factoring in human life expectancies, it seemed more than a decade showed in Mr. Smith's face. Two children, a boy and a girl, stood beside the old man. Though the girl was taller, the two looked enough alike to be siblings. That is, until their faces turned up to him. One, with warm brown eyes and delicate features, resembled Mr. Smith. It struck Lucien that this was probably the baby Pearl had been carrying when he brought Josiah to the compound. The other was clearly his own son. Those piercing green eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“Josiah?”

“Father?” The little boy looked at him and he returned the long gaze in silence. It was a silence which contained apology, grief, longing, and fear. Then the child, not restrained by millennia of training, broke composure and dashed across the room. Lucien caught him right up off his feet and squeezed him. By all heaven, he smelled like Sarahi. Lucien's throat burned.

“Please, Father,” the little boy begged. “Don't go away, again.”

“No, son. I'm here. I'm here now.”

Chapter 9

Sarahi crept into the chamber, trying to remain unobtrusive. It was necessary every so often to appear in the presence of her mother and pay homage, leave offerings, but she hated it. Each time she faced the demoness, it reminded her of her son, lost to her, perhaps for good, and of the Naphil she had loved. If she had a choice, she would leave and never come back. But she could not. The danger was too great. Too much depended on her behavior remaining above reproach.

At least it was an easy place to feed. She moved through the dim light of a black fire which crackled and flickered in the center of the room. It gave off no heat, and the chill was oppressive. She clutched her scarf to her head. She could feel her eyes glowing in the darkness. Like a cat, she could reflect even the faintest scrap of light. From the corners of the room, other lamp-like eyes glowed. Approaching the altar, she laid down her offering of flowers and fruit.

A familiar sound rang through the room, drawing her attention. She'd seen this spectacle thousands of times. As expected, her mother was being serviced by one of her drones; another succubus would soon be joining their ranks. Sarahi smirked. She now knew no matter how many drones her sisters delivered, no incubus would ever be born here. Only the combination of succubus and Naphil was potent enough to create that legendary creature.

Her heart clenched at the memory of her lover and their son, lost to her all these years. To create a world where they could all be together, she would sacrifice everything.

She looked towards the throne on its dais again. Lilith appeared to be a lovely creature. Her snowy skin was possessed of an internal luminescence. She glowed like light brought to life. Her eyes, solid green and completely lacking in pupils, shone with pleasure. She sprawled, one leg dropped over each arm of the heavy wooden throne whose arms were carved with serpents. Spread wide, the towering demoness accepted the enthusiastic possession of a young, blond man with a muscular physique. His back was to the room as he copulated with the demon queen, his buttocks thrusting obscenely.

Ironically, though this young man was essentially dead, his lust was still potent, filling the room. Sarahi's hunger was instantly appeased. It was a rotten way to feed, but an effective one.

The young man groaned in completion and Lilith shoved him away with her bare foot. He stumbled, regained his footing, and stood naked beside her, his genitals gleaming in the aftermath of the encounter.

The demoness stretched luxuriously and lowered her legs to the floor. Sitting up tall, her naked body glowed in the darkness. To many she would appear beautiful, especially nude like this. Her scarlet nipples gleamed like rubies, her eyes reflected the light of the fire. But Sarahi did not see her mother as beautiful, she saw only the insatiable lust for power. To have so much and appreciate so little… Sarahi would have been content to live out her endless existence in a travel trailer at the edge of the desert with her lover and her son. That had been a blessed life for the short time she'd had it. She wanted it back.

“Sarahi.” The deep, cold, resonant voice carried through the room. Lilith recovered quickly from her exertions.

“Mother.” her own voice had been carefully cultivated over centuries of experience into the perfect degree of groveling submission.

“Come here, my little one.”

She approached the throne nervously.

“Take off that foolish scarf.”

Sarahi dropped her shawl around her shoulders, letting her scarlet hair spill free. She suddenly felt more naked than the unclad demonesses surrounding her.

Lilith rose from her throne, towering over her tiny daughter and staring down at her with displeased eyes. Sarahi bowed her head.

“Why is it, my dear, that you never bring me any drones? All your sisters have done it. All but you. Why?”

It was a good thing she'd been anticipating the question or she would have had no idea what to say. She willed herself to look ashamed and said, “I am sorry, Mother. I can never get a man to stay with me long enough.”

“What a pathetic succubus you are, Sarahi. I can't imagine how you came from me. Bringing you into the world was a waste of my time.” Lilith sighed in deep disgust and beckoned. “Come closer. I have a task for you.”

Sarahi suppressed a sigh of her own and stepped up to the dais. Lilith's long, black-taloned hand shot out, catching her around the throat, claws digging into her flesh.

“You must try harder, little one. If you do not provide me with what I need, you're no further use to me, and I might just decide to devour you. Do you understand?” Oddly for such dark words, her tone was light, as though threatening her daughter with cannibalistic destruction were no great matter.

“Yes, Mother,” Sarahi replied, her voice as neutral as she could make it around the crushing pressure.

The claws loosened. The little succubus made no move to step back. She had not been invited to do so. Instead, she waited, apparently at perfect peace with whatever end her mother had planned for her.

Lilith turned towards her drone. “Come,” she said. He approached.

“Sarahi, fetch my cup.”

Sarahi hurried to obey the command, her stomach clenching in disgust over what she knew was coming. She wished there was some way to prevent this, but there was nothing. And sadly, what was at stake was more important than this one life.

The demon queen rose approached her meal. He was much smaller than her, his nearly six feet insignificant against her towering height. She grasped his shoulders in her clawed hands and lifted him.

For a moment his blue eyes suddenly filled with awareness. As Sarahi watched in horror, his pleading gaze shot around the room. She could see his fear. And then the demoness opened her mouth. Long, inward-curving fangs extended from her gums and she sank them deep into his unguarded throat. She yanked her head back, tearing out an obscene hunk of flesh. Blood sprayed, rolling down her breasts in a scarlet river. Everywhere the blood touched her, it glowed in the light of her luminescence. She chewed the mouthful and swallowed it, licking blood from her lips with relish, and then nodded to her daughter. Sarahi extended the golden chalice beneath the twitching corpse of her mother's latest victim and caught the spilling tide as best she could. It sprayed across her face, running down like the tears she didn't dare to shed.

For today, at least, she was safe.

Chapter 10

“Father,” Josiah said softly, entering the dormitory where Nephilim stayed when they were at the compound. The soft colors of the bedspread on which Lucien sat – red fading through the shades of orange and rose to gold – seemed to mean something to the half-angel. His obsidian eyes were far away as he ran his fingers over a band of delicate shell pink. Perhaps he, like his son, felt the Montana winter leeched all the color out of the world. Beyond the small, high window, snow swirled in a chill wind which could be felt even through the cinderblock walls of the compound.

“Josiah?” Lucien looked up, his expression returning to the present, to his thirteen-year-old son standing in front of him.

“Father, you don't have to live here, do you? Can't you live anywhere and just stop in here to get orders and be debriefed and stuff?”

“That's right, son. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Josiah looked down at the toe of his sneaker. While the other boys his age were outgrowing clothes and shoes faster than any of the ladies could keep up with, he was still the same size he'd been when he was ten. Tiny. Annie towered over him now, close to her adult height.

“Well what, son? What's wrong?” Lucien rose from his seat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Josiah's shoulder. The boy looked up the huge line of his father's frame to his face and wondered if he'd ever be tall like an average human, let alone like a Naphil.

“I don't want to live here anymore. I don't like this place. Mr. Smith has never liked me, and he's in charge of all the trainees. He thinks I'm useless.”

“You're not useless, son.”

“Are you sure, Father? I'm small. I don't think I'll ever grow. I'm too small to handle even the smallest gun. I can't even lift a broadsword. The only weapon I'm good with is a throwing star. What's the point of that?”

Lucien's dark brows drew together. “And so? Who said you needed to grow like a human? I'm not surprised you're taking your time. In fact, I'd be shocked if you grew at human pace. You're part angel. We develop more slowly. I was child-sized until I was nearly forty.”

“Why don't the elders know that?”

“I'll explain it to them. Be patient, son. They're fully human. Though we call them `elders', they live human life spans. The last Naphil was born around the time of the Great Flood. No one alive remembers us as children.”

“I see, sir.” Josiah met his father's eyes and saw the warrior react, as he always did. A wave of grief like a tsunami rolled over the chiseled face. It just killed Josiah that something about him made his father so sad. Weren't fathers supposed to be proud of their sons? To be happy about them? Yes, Lucien had been punished, but that had ended three years ago. Shouldn't he be over it by now?

“Rest easy. You are normal, as far as I can tell. I will let them know you might need extra time to grow up, because of your unusual nature.”

Josiah nodded. “Thanks, Father, but I still don't like it here. Apart from Annie, no one really cares for me. They think I'm strange. I wish I could go somewhere else, somewhere with people who don't know there are half-angels, who will think I'm just a kid, and treat me like I'm normal.”

“From what I've seen, no thirteen-year-old gets to feel that way. They all struggle to fit in, not realizing it's impossible. I think you'll just need to ride out these transitional years. Hold on, son. There's life on the other side.”

“Yes, but, Father, what will I be when I'm done? I keep hearing things like `weak Naphil'. Is that what I am?”

“I wish I could answer that. I don't know, and I won't until you gain more maturity, what traits you have inherited from me, from humanity, and from your mother.”

Mother. He'd actually mentioned her
. Josiah leaped on the opportunity. “Father, what was Mother like? Who was she?”

The obsidian eyes drifted far away again. “Your mother was… is… the most beautiful, brave, amazing creature who ever existed, apart from you. She…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “There are no words. She had… the most beautiful soul, the most shining pink aura. It was clean like the sky at dawn. I was blessed to know her.”

“If she's so perfect,” Josiah said, hearing the hard bitterness in his own voice, “then why did she give me away? Is there something so wrong with me that my own mother doesn't want me?”

Black fire flashed in his father's eyes and Josiah took a step back. “Never say that again. It killed her to part with you. She loved you so much, she didn't dare expose you to the danger she lives in every day. She sent you away to protect you, and that is why you're here. Being what you are, there is no better place. I will not nullify her sacrifice by putting you in danger. Not for adolescent angst. You're staying. Go back to your training.”

Stung, Josiah sulked out of the room. His father wouldn't listen to him. No one would. It was so unfair.

***

That night, Josiah had his favorite dream. In it, his underdeveloped, childlike body was drawn into a warm embrace, onto a soft lap. A haunting fragrance enveloped him.

“Josiah,” a soft voice murmured in his ear, “I love you, my son.”

In the dream, he knew who addressed him, and responded without reservation.

“I love you too, Mother. I miss you. Where are you?”

“I am always with you, my love. I will never leave you. Darling Josiah. Be brave. Learn all you can. I will come to you when I am able. But no matter what, I have always loved you.”

The hazy image resolved into the shape of a woman, but instead of the peach skin and red hair he knew she should have, she was entirely pink, like a sparkling rose-colored gem, though she was soft where she touched him. She stroked his face and pressed a soft, tingling kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Mother,” he whispered. “Do you have to leave?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “Let me hold you a little longer. You're getting so big.”

He smiled.

***

The good mood Josiah's favorite dream brought only lasted until mid-morning. At first, practice had gone well. He'd been working out and running, and he finally had gained enough strength to fire some of the guns without being knocked over by the recoil. For the first time, he'd actually managed to hold the shotgun steady enough to hit the corner of the target, a feat he equated with winning a marathon. Goodness knew it had taken him long enough to get there.

“Well done!” Annie said, hugging him around the shoulders. “Try again.”

Josiah lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. This time, Annie stood behind him, lending the strength of her almost adult-sized body to his. Though thirteen, he still looked no more than ten. The others boys' voices were breaking, and they were comparing the fuzz which had begun to appear on their chins and under their arms. He was still smooth-skinned, his voice a pure alto. Would he ever grow up?

But in one way he was maturing. The warmth of Annie's arms around him, the sweet girl-scent of perfume and shampoo, caused reactions he blushed to describe, but felt nonetheless.

Trying to dispel images he knew would get him hit if he dared hint at them aloud, he concentrated on the target and fired. With Annie's support, the shot fanned out from a perfect spot just to the left of the bull's-eye.

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed, squeezing his waist and leaning around him to press a kiss on his cheek. His skin burned at the moist touch. Someday, if he ever managed to grow up, he knew exactly which girl he wanted to marry. Quick as thought he dropped the empty shotgun in the grass and turned. He wrapped his arms around Annie's neck and tugged her down, kissing her lips before she could wriggle away.

“Josiah!” she half-laughed, half-protested.

“I'm not sorry,” he told her, his childish voice intense. “Someday, Annie, you'll be mine.”

She laughed out loud this time. “You have some growing to do first, Joe.”

“I know,” he replied, “but when I do, be ready. Promise me, Annie. Promise you'll wait for me.”

She considered him. Then she nodded. “Okay, Josiah. I'll wait.”

He beamed. Then his grin turned to a scowl as Peter, two years his senior and almost twice his size, strode across the courtyard and wrapped an arm around Annie's neck.

“Get off me,” she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

“What? I saw you kissing this little shrimp. Wouldn't you rather have a real man?”

Annie's laugh this time dripped scorn. “You? A real man? Ha. I'd take Josiah over ten of you.”

Peter took instant offense. Of course he did. “Freak,” he told her, releasing her with a little shove which sent her sprawling on the grass. “What about it, shrimp? You man enough to fight for your girl?”

Josiah considered his opponent. It would be great to knock this big bully on his ass, but Josiah wasn't certain he could manage it.

“Remember what I told you.”

Had Annie spoken? He shook his head. She hadn't. Peter wasn't looking at her. But he'd heard her voice clearly in his mind. What had she told him?
Don't fuss about your size. Use it to your advantage.
Then she'd taught him all kinds of girly fighting tricks.

Josiah looked at Peter again. He could take him down using Annie's techniques, but while he might win the battle, he would lose the war. This fight was man-to-man, and he had to fight like a man.

Josiah narrowed his eyes and charged. Peter sidestepped him and stuck a foot out.

What had just happened? One minute he'd been running, and the next… he was staring at a line of ants making their slow way though the grass as he gasped for breath. The sound of loud brays of laughter rang in his pounding ears. Then a female voice shrieking unintelligible words. Josiah caught his breath and tried to use his arms to push himself to a sitting position. Agony wracked him and he screamed.

“Josiah?” Annie's soft sweet voice sounded in his ear. “What's wrong?”

He couldn't answer, could only moan. Then he screamed again as she rolled him to his side.

“You asshole!” she hollered. “Look what you did! His arm is broken!”

Josiah got a hazy image of Peter shrugging nonchalantly. “He fell on it. He broke his own arm.”

“You tripped him!”

“He charged. If he hasn't learned to fight better than that by now, there's no hope for him.” The bully strolled away.

As Peter's bulky frame withdrew from Josiah's field of vision, he saw a crowd of women headed in his direction. In the lead was Pearl, Annie's mother and head nurse. They would fix him. Josiah waved his good hand in front of his face, trying to dispel a cloud of black gnats which seemed to have come out of nowhere. He could hear them buzzing.

“Josiah, why didn't you use your techniques?”

“Had to be man-to-man,” he choked.

“Fool. Bullies don't fight like men.”

“I'm better than he is.”

“Maybe so, but you're still a fool.”

He wanted to say more, to argue with her, to ask how she'd managed to speak inside his head, but the gnats crowded closer until they became flies, and then bees. Their buzzing drowned out his words and total blackness fell.

***

In some ways, Annie mused to herself, the six weeks Josiah had spent in a cast had been good for him. Being forced to use his non-dominant hand had strengthened him overall. His handwriting was worse than ever, but his aim with a handgun had improved, as had his accuracy with throwing stars. Once the cast came off, he'd have to retrain his left hand. She grinned. Left handed in Latin was
sinistra
. If only Josiah could
act
sinister, his size would be less of a detriment. But alas, the boy was open-hearted and sensitive. That made him a great friend. Maybe even a boyfriend someday, if he'd ever grow. But as the warrior all young men wanted to be, he came up short.

“Hannah, are you listening?”

Sorry, Grandfather,” Annie said, her cheeks tingling with heat. “But please call me Annie.”

“I did. Three times. Are you finally paying attention?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” she replied, making a show of meekness.

“Good. Tell me the origin of the Nephilim.”

Annie opened the Bible on her desk and turned to Genesis. She found the passage and began to read.