Stricken (The War Scrolls Book 1) (4 page)

Killian sighed again. “They were infected with
La Morte Nera
.” He offered a sardonic smile. “Those
things
—” he stressed the word, distaste twisting his lips “—were Elioud, the human ancestors of angels. Now, they’re nothing. Shells.”

“
La Morte Nera
?” Aubrey’s eyebrows climbed at the familiar name. “The virus? That’s a myth.” Even she heard the disbelief in her tone.

“Considering that my blade-brothers and I just killed four Elioud infected with the virus, I’m pretty sure it’s more fact than fairy tale.” His dry smile slipped, probably in response to the horrified expression she felt spreading across her face. “
La Morte Nera
is real,” he said.

Aubrey blinked, trying to process.
La Morte Nera
was nothing more than a myth. A made-up virus the Fallen used to scare their children into behaving. Except…

Killian’s expression twisted into something hard and bitter.

Oh God.

“It’s real.” A barrage of familiar faces ran through her mind, friends she’d left behind years ago. Jason and Mark. Simon. Little Tyrell and Anthony.

“What are you?” Killian demanded.

“Human,” she answered and then bit her lip. A long time ago, one of her ancestors had mated with an angel. She didn’t tell Killian that, though.

“You’re just a kid,” he said, more to himself than her.

“I’m nineteen,” she snapped, bristling. She hadn’t been
just a kid
in a long time.

Killian eyed her for a long moment, his lips pursued. “And no one’s looking for you?” He arched a brow. “Interesting.”

“I take care of myself.”

“Oh?”

She said nothing. He didn’t need to know about Aunt Mel. Besides, Mel wouldn’t be looking for her yet. She was on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. She wouldn’t be home for another week.

“You know about the Fallen.”

That wasn’t a question, but Aubrey nodded anyway.

“My brother was—” Aaron’s charred arm flashed through her mind. “He was a shifter,” she whispered, her gaze on the floor.

“Was?”

Aubrey lifted her head to find Killian staring at her, his expression neutral. “He died in a fire.”

Oh, Aaron.
God, how she missed him.

“Ah,” Killian murmured, and then, “I’m sorry.” He sounded as though he genuinely meant it.

Aubrey cleared her throat, forcing tears back. “So the shifters were infected?” she asked.

“They were.” Killian tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Your brother was a shifter, but you’re not?”

“No.” Unlike Aaron, she’d inherited no Talent from their mother. Whatever angel blood still flowed in her veins was weak, almost nonexistent.

“He knew of the Fallen?”

Aubrey nodded.

“And he told you about them.”

She didn’t like the way he said that as if Aaron had violated some law. He hadn’t, and he wouldn’t have had to anyway. The Fallen thought they operated beneath the radar, but virtually everyone with angel blood knew about the warrior angels who governed them from the shadows, supposedly as penance for mating with demons eons ago.

Aubrey didn’t know if that story was true or not, but if the Fallen had mated with humans to create Nephilim like Killian and Elioud like her and Aaron, maybe those whispered tales about demon alliances were also true.

Killian drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his face a study in impatience.

“No, he didn’t,” she said, pulling her mind away from stories of the Fallen and back to the subject at hand. “He didn’t tell me anything about the Fallen.”

“And yet you know enough about them to recognize one on sight. How?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” She perched on the edge of the bed, confident Killian wasn’t an immediate danger to her. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to care if he was. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach and was still winded.

La Morte Nera
was real. Her dad would have—

“The short will do for now, I suppose.”

“I was attacked one day. One of the exiled Fallen warriors helped Aaron save me.”

“Attacked?”

Aubrey swallowed. “A Nephilim boy.”

He’d toyed with her for three days, punishing her for her humanity, blaming her for his messed-up life. He’d hated who he was. Not angel like the Fallen and not human like her but something else, caught between two worlds without being accepted into either. “
Weak and pathetic
,” he’d screamed at her.

Aubrey shuddered as she always did when remembering how close to death she’d come. The attack had been senseless. Even now, she didn’t understand why the boy had picked her. Out of the hundreds of people out there with blood like hers, why had he chosen her? Hurt her? She wasn’t sure there was an answer. If there was, it had died with the Nephilim boy, killed by her brother and the fallen angel he’d enlisted to help him save her life.

Killian leaned back in the chair and frowned. “Yet you’re not running from me.”

Aubrey laughed at his assessment of the situation. “Maybe I’m tired of running,” she lied. Or maybe she’d realized she couldn’t run far or fast enough. Besides, where did he expect her to go if she tried? “And you’d have killed me already if you wanted me dead. I think.”

He didn’t attempt to reassure her that he wouldn’t kill her later. Instead, he said, “Why are the Elioud after you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s bound to complicate things.”

“You think?” Aubrey rolled her eyes. “And here I thought we were done stating the obvious.”

Killian watched her, his expression indecipherable.

Ah, crap.
She drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed. If she kept it up, he really would kill her. She cracked her eyes open and looked at him. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“You’ve had a rough night, and my feelings aren’t that easily hurt,” he said. He stared at her for a moment, his gaze less severe, almost sympathetic. “We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

“
We’ll
figure it out?” Aubrey asked, shocked. “Why would
you
help
me
?”

“Why not?” He pinned her with his serious gaze, and then that cold mask dropped into place, obscuring any emotion. “You weren’t doing so well on your own.”

The last thing she wanted was to tie herself to this Nephilim warrior for any length of time, but he was right. She hadn’t been doing so well on her own. The things chasing her were nothing like Aaron. They weren’t protective big brothers who adored their little sisters or rowdy teenaged boys who flirted shamelessly with their friend’s baby sister. They were not human or animal but something else. Something more frightening than even her Nephilim tormentor had been.

If there were more of them out there, she didn’t stand a chance on her own. And there was no one else to help her. No one at all. So she didn’t really have another choice, did she?

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Killian answered. “But like you said, you’d already be dead if I wanted you that way.”

“And if that changes?” she asked, wary.

“You’ll be the first to know.” He stared at her, looking exactly like the avenging angel she’d thought him. “But you’re a whole lot more valuable to me alive than dead, sweetheart.”

She doubted that. He didn’t even know her.

He must have read the skepticism in her gaze. “I don’t know anything about you, but I do know about the virus. It’s killing us faster than we believed possible. Finding infected Elioud is expected. What we don’t expect is to find four of them fighting like hell to get to a teenaged girl instead of turning on us.” He arched a brow. “I’d really like to know how those four managed it. And since you seem to be what they were after, you’re more valuable to me alive than you are dead. I need answers, and it looks like you’re it.”

Well, that was honest enough, wasn’t it?

He would protect her if she needed protecting and help her where she needed helping. It would be, she was suddenly certain, his personal goal in life. And if he ever decided she was a threat to him or the answers he sought, he’d kill her where she stood.

Aubrey shivered and made her decision. “Fine.”

She felt as though she might have made a deal with the devil himself.

They’re going to need you. You’re the only—

The only what?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t know if this is what her father meant about her being needed, either, but she couldn’t turn her back this time. Not when people like Aaron and his friends were dying.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No need.” Killian hauled himself to his feet. “I meant what I said.”

Aubrey shivered, no less leery of him than she’d been when he’d walked into the room. She wasn’t nearly that stupid.

“Is anyone going to come looking for you?” he asked.

Aubrey hesitated for a long moment, caught between the truth and a lie, and then she sighed. “I live with my aunt, but she won’t come looking for a few days.” The confession sounded sad and pathetic even to her.

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“The fire?”

“My father, yes. But my mother died in a wreck when I was a baby. I never knew her.”

If Killian heard the loneliness in her voice, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he pointed toward the bathroom. “The shower’s in there,” he said.

He was gone before Aubrey could thank him.

Chapter Three

Killian closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving Aubrey to bathe in private.

“How did it go?”

He glanced over to find Abriel crouched against the wall, twirling a dagger aimlessly between his fingers. Aside from the weapon, his blade-brother looked more like a bored college student in his polo and jeans than a four-hundred-year-old warrior who’d hunted down and killed hundreds over the centuries.

“About as well as expected.” Killian hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. “Is she going to run?”

Abriel sheathed the dagger in his boot and shook his head. “Nah. Her thoughts are surprisingly calm.” He arched a brow at Killian. “No luck reading her?”

“No.” Killian rubbed his forehead, frustrated. Once upon a time, he’d thought he’d come to terms with his weak mindreading Talent where the Elioud were concerned, but apparently not. He was dying to know what the girl was hiding from him. Whatever secrets she kept, they haunted her. He saw that much clearly.

“She’s Elioud,” Abriel said, “but her blood is weak, almost completely human.”

Killian nodded. He’d guessed as much even before Aubrey confirmed his suspicions. Her aura was bright like an angel’s, but not even the acrid stench of the infected wolves or the grime and dirt covering her was powerful enough to mask the scent of her humanity or hide her beauty.

Her hair hung in tangles down her back, as dark as his was light. It set off her porcelain skin and bottomless green eyes in a way that made him uncomfortable. And the soft curves hidden beneath her dirty clothing made his entire body ache.

“Caitria doesn’t know her family line?” he asked his blade-brother, jerking his mind away from the lovely girl.

“Nope.” Abriel bounded to his feet then headed toward the living room, wisely not commenting on the direction of Killian’s thoughts. “She’s not happy about it, either.”

“It’s not her fault.” Killian eased himself down onto the sofa. No one but Caitria herself expected her to know every Elioud line still capable of producing those with Talents. Their world was in chaos, and the Fallen were dying as fast as the children they’d birthed long ago were. If Aubrey’s story was true and one of the exiled Fallen had helped rescue her, that angel might well be dead now.

“Her brother died in a fire?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder how.”

Killian shrugged. Aubrey hadn’t exactly given him her entire life’s story, and he couldn’t say he blamed her for that. How could he when one of his kind had tried to kill her? That bothered him more than the little human girl’s distrust of him.

Halfling children like him were hidden away, no more accepted by the Fallen than bastard sons and daughters were accepted by their noble-born human fathers two centuries ago. The Fallen had frowned upon humans for turning their children away, but they’d been no better. For centuries, they’d used the humans they were meant to protect and then cast their offspring aside.

To this day, Killian’s own father refused to acknowledge him. The mighty angel was unwilling to besmirch his honor by admitting to the same weakness that had nearly destroyed the Fallen and seen them cast from Heaven. But not all were so misguided and dishonorable.

Some defied convention and remained with the humans they impregnated. They raised their children with honor and pride outside of Fallen society and never looked back, allowing Elioud like Aubrey to flourish. But the story was altogether different for most Nephilim children. It would have been for Killian without Caitria, one of the Dominion who understood what honor truly meant. She’d taken Killian in, raised him alongside Abriel and Dom, and given him the best of everything.

Others like Killian were raised by their human parent, if the parent survived. Many, too many, were pawned off on orphanages or left to wander on their own. They were unstable then, volatile, unable to understand the need for justice brewing in their souls.

When that happened, innocents like Aubrey paid the price.

The entire business disgusted Killian.

How many human lives were lost because of the crimes of the Fallen?

How many Nephilim were sentenced to death?

He’d lost count long ago.

“Why are the Elioud hunting her?” Abriel asked, settling into a recliner with a grunt.

Killian leaned back and closed his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept? Two days ago? Three? He couldn’t remember. “She said she doesn’t know.”

“Is she being truthful?”

“Yeah, she is.” The girl was afraid of Killian, too afraid to lie to him. He felt bad about that, but he wouldn’t make her promises he couldn’t keep. Even if the blood was faint in her, she was still Elioud, which meant she could become infected. If that happened, killing her would be a mercy.

He didn’t think she was ready to hear that, though.

“We need more information.”

They needed a whole lot more information. Like where the girl came from, and what she was mixed up in. Or what they were going to do with her.

What the hell
were
they going to do with her?

The water began running in his bathroom.

“You think she knows more about the virus than she’s saying?” Abriel asked.

“Honestly? No.” Killian cracked open an eye to find his brother staring at him, a contemplative frown on his face. “Chances are she’s mixed up in something else, but…” But they couldn’t afford for him to be wrong, either. No one could.

“I almost miss the Inquisition.” Abriel rubbed his temples, grimacing.

Dealing with sanctimonious pricks would be a walk in the park compared to what they now faced day in and day out. The last four months had been one hopeless battle after another, one mindless execution after another. Infected Fallen-kin kept coming, and the Fallen were running out of warriors to toss in front of them. Soon, there would be no one left. If this was God’s way of punishing the Fallen for their excesses and sins, He was a bigger bastard than Killian had always thought.

“Are you taking her home?” Abriel asked.

Did she even have a home?

Jesus, Killian hoped she wasn’t kidding about her aunt.

“Yeah,” he said before clearing his throat as if that would wipe away the sympathy welling in his chest. He didn’t want to sympathize with Aubrey, and he couldn’t afford to like her, not when he might have to kill her. “We should at least take a look at the place before we decide whether to leave her there.”

“Do you need me to come with you?”

“Nah, I’ll go.”

“I’ll deal with the bodies, then.” Abriel sighed before climbing to his feet. “Be careful, though, brother,” he said, rolling his neck and stretching. “If she does know something and we lose her—”

Killian didn’t need his blade-brother to finish the sentence to know where it ended.

If Aubrey knew something about the virus and they lost her, the Fallen would die.

***

The steaming water eased Aubrey’s aching and tired muscles and eliminated the stench clinging to her. She stayed under the warm spray until her skin wrinkled and the worst of her pain vanished. Half an hour later, she emerged feeling refreshed and calmer than when she’d stepped in.

After a little judicious poking and prowling through the medicine cabinet, she found a bottle of cologne and doused her clothes liberally. They still looked as though she’d been rolling in mud and worse when she dressed, but at least they no longer smelled as if she lived on the streets.

A definite improvement, she decided as she crossed the bedroom and stepped into the long hall beyond. She glanced around, hoping to learn something about the Nephilim warrior who’d promised to help her. His house, while lavishly decorated, appeared no different than her and Mel’s apartment. Nothing screamed “angel.”

The walls were wood paneled like those in the bedroom. A thick carpet, nearly the same deep red as the comforter on the bed, covered the floor. Antique-styled sconces hung at intervals along the hallway, casting light on elaborate paintings positioned here and there down the entire length. Two rows of closed doors lined the hall. Bedrooms, she guessed, though she hadn’t expected there to be quite so many of them.

How big was the house?

The end of the hallway opened onto a large living area. She stepped into the room, uncertain if she should be wandering around by herself, and then stopped. The area was easily the size of a football field and a whole lot more modern than she was prepared for.

A television took up one entire wall. A game console, controllers, and a DVD player sat atop a low table beneath the television. An oversized couch and half a dozen recliners, quite similar to the armchair in the bedroom, were arranged in an arc around the television.

The connecting wall was solid glass. Dawn approached on the horizon, coloring the sky a deep orange. The combination of shadows and growing light made the room appear even more massive.

A glass-fronted armoire set against the north wall dominated the room. Wicked axes, huge swords, sharp daggers, dangerous-looking knives, and even a longbow and quiver of arrows hung from pegs inside. Aubrey moved closer to the cabinet to get a better look, awed at such a display. She’d never met anyone who kept an arsenal in his living room.

She felt someone enter the room and turned her head.

Killian stood across from her with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was indecipherable, but Aubrey shivered as she took him in. He was breathtaking. Too masculine to be beautiful, but
beautiful
was the only word that came close to describing him. Standing there, he appeared ethereal, mysterious, exactly as she’d always imagined real angels looked before she ever saw her first one.

A subtle golden glow emanated from his skin. She’d noticed the faint sheen back in the bedroom too, but more immediate needs—like her overwhelming desire
not
to be killed—had taken precedence then. Now that she was refreshed and fairly certain he wasn’t going to kill her just yet, she couldn’t help but stare at him.

She should have run for her life, but she wasn’t afraid of him exactly. Oh, she didn’t doubt for a minute that he would kill her without blinking an eye if she gave him reason. But he was so different from the Nephilim boy who’d tormented her years ago. Killian seemed too focused, too driven to ever give in to hatred.

He caught her gaze, and she blushed, breaking eye contact and gestured to the cabinet of weapons. “Impressive,” she said when he moved toward her. “It reminds me of
Buffy
.”

Killian’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, the first Aubrey had seen from him. His expression didn’t soften, but he seemed less severe. “The Vampire Slayer.”

Aubrey shivered at the soft tone of his voice.

She’d forgotten how hypnotic he sounded when he wasn’t snarling at her.

“I always wondered if anyone in real life actually kept a mini-arsenal close at hand like she did,” Aubrey said, turning toward him when he stepped up beside her. She smiled a little, nervous. He was so much bigger than she was. “Art imitating life.”

“Life imitating art in this case.” He shrugged one shoulder when she looked up at him. “It seemed to work well for her.”

“And has it worked as well for you?” Aubrey asked, surprised he knew the show.

Who was he?

“More or less.” Killian pressed his lips together. Something a lot like regret floated through his eyes for a moment before they hardened into blue storm clouds. “Results still pending.”

“Ah,” Aubrey murmured and then shook her head. “You watch
Buffy
?”

“There’s not much else on TV at five in the morning,” he said. “The Slayer would have made a good Warrior of Light.” He paused. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, or what she last ate, for that matter, but the thought of food made her stomach churn.

“Then if you’re ready, we can go.” Killian pulled the cabinet open and selected two knives before slipping them up his sleeves.

A dagger and a little flare disappeared into folds of his clothing and pockets. Had she not seen him sliding the weapons into sheaths, she never would have known they were there. Not a hint of them showed. Impressive, considering he wore only jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and combat boots.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he finished donning his weapons.

“You’d like to go home, wouldn’t you?” He arched a brow at her.

God, yes, she wanted to go home, but she was surprised he planned to let her. For all she knew, helping her meant keeping her prisoner here.

“Are the others coming with us?”

Killian closed the door to the weapon cabinet before reaching for her arm. Her skin tingled where he touched her as if tiny fires blazed in the glow encompassing him. For the first time in hours, she felt truly calm, as if his touch had soothed the jumble of thoughts and emotion running through her.