Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2) Read online

  In other words, to keep its continued existence a secret. She’d been so thrilled at the prospect of owning something that had once belonged to her own mother it had never crossed her mind to wonder at the vampire’s command. None of her dhampir friends had been allowed to keep anything from their human parent.

  “They didn’t let me inherit it.” Her voice was hoarse as she finally faced how strange that really was. Why would the Electors care if she had her mother’s journal, unless there was something in it that they wanted to keep from her? But the only possibly controversial entry was the one about her name. Surely that couldn’t be the reason? “Meg gave it to me. She made me promise I’d never let anyone know about it.”

  “And you never wondered why, right?”

  No, but only because until now she’d never analyzed it. She’d just accepted everything Meg had said.

  Keep it safe. So, she had.

  Tell no one you have it.

  Well, maybe she’d bent that rule. Before Lily, she had shared the journal with both Belinda and Brad.

  But never with another vampire.

  “Well I’ll tell you this,” Lily said. “Your mother’s journal saved my sanity. If you hadn’t let me read it, I would’ve had no idea what was happening to me.”

  What the hell she was talking about? She’d lost count how many times she had read her mother’s journal. And there was nothing in there about being medicated into a zombie state.

  Something snagged at the edge her mind. Something her mother had written a month before Rowan’s birth about there being a problem with the baby. How she needed more rest…

  “It struck me at the time.” Lily’s voice had dropped to a low whisper. “Her style changed, about three weeks before that last entry. She became more disoriented. Vague. But it was only after you did your amethyst healing sorcery on me that it hit me.”

  “They changed her medication.” Rowan glared futilely at the ceiling. Is this what the Electors wanted to hide from me? Or was she being paranoid? “Because there was a problem with me.”

  “That,” Lily jerked her thumb at her swollen belly, “is the excuse they gave me. God, Rowan. Without her journal I might never have made that connection. Don’t you see? They do it towards the end of pregnancy, so the mother becomes completely malleable.”

  She wanted to tell Lily she was talking rubbish. But she couldn’t. Because the doctor’s offhand comment regarding the three other women she had saved in similar circumstances echoed through her brain.

  “They all go through this at the end. You remember the other human women you brought in? They were just the same.”

  “That can’t be the reason. Not the only reason.” She stared into Lily’s angry face and the hollowness of her words echoed in her ears. “Maybe it’s just an inevitable side effect?”

  “Maybe it is.” Lily didn’t sound in the least convinced. “But I’m not prepared to suffer it. I don’t want this thing growing inside me and I’m not taking anything that makes me feel that way again, no matter how much good it might be doing for their precious dhampir.”

  “God, Lily.” She pushed herself off the bed and gripped the arms of Lily’s chair. “You make it sound as if they think we’re something special to be nurtured. You know that’s not true. Most vampires hate us because of our tainted blood.”

  “Of course you’re special. You do all the vampires dirty work for them.”

  She was in danger of splintering the timber. But she couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. Because Lily’s words pounded through her head and squeezed the air from her lungs.

  Sure, she’d known for years she and her fellow dhampirs at the Enclave hunted rouges and assassinated the unsavory because the vampires preferred not to get personally involved in that side of things. It was the flip side to being accepted. Having a place to call home.

  A form of repayment to the Electors for having taken in her pregnant mother and saving the tainted offspring.

  But now, for the first time, doubt dug in poisoned claws. Was it possible that instead of the Enclave merely taking advantage of a situation, they might actively be encouraging it?

  What am I accusing them of? How could she suspect them of something so abhorrent?

  “They all go through this at the end.” She’d assumed the doctor had been referring to the women she’d brought in. But what about all the other victims? Had they suffered from the strange lethargy towards the end of their pregnancies?

  Chills raced over her arms. Zoë had died. She’d always thought the others had survived. But now the doctor’s words took on a sinister implication. Had he been referring to the end of their pregnancies—or the end of their lives?

  Had they all died?

  Why hadn’t she asked any of the hard questions before? Was it because, deep in her heart, she feared what she might discover?

  Chapter 11

  Azrael

  Azrael teleported to a remote forest in the heart of Romania. It was midday, bitterly cold, and the stark outline of Sakarbaal’s ruined castle was barely visible through an eerie fog that clung to the ancient stones like a belligerent curse.

  It had been too much to hope that he’d find any answers here, where it had all begun. The castle had been abandoned since the night he’d freed the phoenix and was already falling into disrepair the last time he’d checked the place out, more than five hundred years ago.

  But he’d needed to see it again. Just to be certain the vampire hadn’t arisen from the ashes in a depraved inversion of the phoenix’s rebirth almost a millennium ago.

  A shudder inched over his skin. A ghostly remnant of the evil that had once haunted this land.

  Wherever Sakarbaal had made his new lair, it wasn’t here.

  He got out of there and returned to the place he called home. Brooding, he flung himself onto a chair on his veranda but for once the view of blue tipped mountains surrounding a lush valley didn’t help his mood. He’d discovered this planet four thousand years ago, hidden in a backwater of Andromeda III. The world was a paradise, inhabited by millions of exotic birds and wildlife. The indigenous humanoids were too primitive to interest any other immortal and so he had a perfectly secluded bolt hole.

  But he couldn’t get the image of the phoenix from nine hundred years ago out of his mind. How it had huddled in its cage, all but broken by whatever endless torture the vampire had inflicted upon it.

  That Sakarbaal was obsessed by possessing one was clear, if he’d now managed to imprison another of the creatures.

  What was he doing with it?

  In every ancient culture on Earth, and across the universe, the phoenix was a potent symbol of renewal. Rebirth. During his research over the centuries he’d uncovered long-buried archives that spoke of how the great bird escorted the souls of the dead to the afterlife.

  And he’d also discovered something else.

  Long ago, he and fellow archangels Mephisto and Zadkiel had taken a desperately wounded Gabe into the highest, healing, realms of the astral planes. It was a tranquil realm, where immortals through the ages had basked in its calming presence. A level where the souls of mortals could rarely ascend, even after death.

  But the phoenix had unfettered access. Not only could the magnificent creature’s consciousness enter the highest levels at will, but when it died, its soul instantly ascended.

  He’d witnessed the rare phenomenon only once, a dozen years ago. The phoenix’s soul blazed, a starburst of power that for a heart stopping instant had illuminated unparalleled energy pulsing in shrouded fissures of the astral planes. But within a moment its soul vanished, as it once again resurrected in the mortal world, and the glimpse of unimaginable forces vanished with it.

  It was obscene that a foul creature such as Sakarbaal had found a way to not only capture the elusive bird but corrupt its pure essence for his own ends. Was he attempting to use the phoenix’s ability of resurrection to transcend his own undead status?

  Hey, Az. Where are you? />
  The telepathic demand buzzed through his mind and he stifled a groan. The last time he’d spoken with Mephisto—the oldest and most powerful of archangels—was six months ago, just before Gabe’s loss of immortality.

  Home.

  He’d barely sent the communication when Mephisto teleported onto the shady veranda, pulled out a chair and flung himself onto it.

  “Have you set yourself up as a god here yet?”

  “No. And don’t think of starting one of your cults here. The mortals are surprisingly peaceful and that’s how I’d like it to stay.”

  “Your pets haven’t evolved enough to interest me.”

  “You didn’t come here to tell me the indigenous mortals don’t do anything for your libido.”

  Mephisto’s feathers rippled in the late afternoon breeze as he hooked out a second chair with his foot. Frowning, he gazed across the valley before slamming his booted foot on the chair. “I’ve just come from an insignificant little planet that possibly harbors the last two Nephilim in the universe.”

  His vague irritation at the interruption vanished. Six months ago, Zad had told him Gabe and Aurora had discovered living descendants of an archangel.

  For millennia he’d believed all Nephilim had been killed—murdered—because of his goddess’ betrayal and his own refusal to see the truth in his vision. But he’d been committed to his hunt in Andromeda, and Zad’s revelation had been pushed to the back of his mind.

  “Is it true? They are of archangelic blood?” He’d never fallen. Had never had a child of his own. But before the great devastation had ravaged Earth he’d loved and protected the offspring of his fellow archangels for they were precious and rare.

  Except I failed to protect them when it mattered the most.

  Because he’d trusted his goddess.

  “After so many millennia, can they truly be Nephilim?”

  “If there’s no doubt as to their ancestry then yes. They’re Nephilim.” He considered Mephisto’s brooding profile. “Any idea who the archangel is?”

  Mephisto didn’t answer right away, and that was answer enough. He never liked to admit that he didn’t know something.

  “Even now,” Mephisto said at last, “there are archangels who refuse to answer my call.”

  Azrael transferred his gaze to the valley. He knew that only too well. One of his closest friends shielded his existence from at least half of all archangels, including Mephisto. And had done so ever since the great civilization of their youth had been annihilated, eleven thousand years ago.

  “Zad’s convinced Aurora reincarnated because of her unique heritage,” Mephisto said. “We don’t know for sure if, after this life, she’ll come back again. Fuck, we don’t even know if Gabe will be reborn, seeing as his soul is inextricably entwined with hers.” He exhaled a frustrated breath. “Was she reborn because of her heritage, or not? I need to know the truth, Az.”

  He wasn’t the only one. After the great devastation, Azrael had sworn a pledge to protect the astral planes from hostile forces. While the higher levels were accessible only to those mortals who had passed on, the lower levels could be invaded not only by spiritually attuned mortals but by entities hell bent on countless forms of destruction.

  It had served as a small salve to his conscience. He hadn’t been able to save the lives of the innocent humans he’d lived among but at least he could protect the wellbeing of their souls.

  Had he also been protecting the fragile essence of the slain Nephilim?

  “After all this time we might never know the truth.” He shot Mephisto a glance. “If Nephilim do possess souls, does that mean the offspring of demons do, too?”

  “Wouldn’t that be fucking brilliant?” Mephisto’s wings fluttered in outrage at the notion. “I need distraction. Let’s hit a nightclub on a civilized world and wallow in some mindless adoration from nubile mortals.”

  Nubile mortal conjured up an alluring image of Rowan, black hair spread over his thighs, wet mouth worshipping his cock. Far from tiring of her after their second night together he’d suggested a third. And then a fourth.

  Each time she’d dictated the hour and location. It was obvious she was cautious about being followed. But who did she think was following her?

  “I’ll pass.” Why did he need to hit a nightclub to pick up a mortal, when he had his very own human he was seeing the following day?

  “That’s the smug grin of an archangel who’s being well and truly laid. I thought you were in the middle of a celibacy rut.”

  Smug grin? He hadn’t realized the memory of Rowan’s foreplay had reflected on his expression. He’d thought it was all centered between his thighs.

  Her beautiful face and enchanting green eyes invaded his mind. “Celibacy is overrated.”

  “Preaching to the proverbial.” Mephisto flashed him a lascivious grin. “Catch you later.”

  Rowan

  Rowan was on her way to the suite of offices, located on the second floor of the mansions, when she heard Meg’s voice floating down the stairs. Shit. She hadn’t spoken to her in days and after her conversation with Lily she wasn’t sure she’d be able to even look the vampire in the eyes without Meg guessing her traitorous thoughts.

  She wasn’t up for a confrontation with Meg. Not yet.

  Ask the hard questions.

  First, she needed more evidence than merely her own suspicions. Which was why she was here tonight, and why she couldn’t let Meg see her. She darted through the nearest door into a lavishly decorated eighteenth century bedroom and held her breath until she heard Meg and whoever she was talking to descend the stairs.

  She waited a few more minutes just to be on the safe side, before she left the room and went to the offices.

  She’d never realized what an advantage it gave her, being considered the dhampir version of a Goody-Two-Shoes. The couple of vampires working this evening barely glanced at her when she strolled in and said she needed to check something in Lily Cartwright’s files.

  But why would they suspect her of doing anything underhand? She’d toed the line since Steven’s death. She’d never put the Enclave’s existence in danger—luckily there had been no repercussions over the incident in Estella’s—and she’d never needed an intervention due to drug or alcohol abuse.

  She just did her job. And didn’t ask questions. Well, this evening she wasn’t asking questions either, but she was damn well going to find some answers.

  Lily’s medical history scrolled over the screen. As far as she could tell everything appeared to be progressing normally, apart from the note, sent by one of the Electors from Romania, recommending a change in medication. There was nothing to indicate it was due to a problem with the baby.

  She took a deep breath. It wasn’t too late to walk away. What did she think she could she do, if she did discover some terrible conspiracy involving the human women? Confront the mighty Enclave?

  They’d squash her like a gnat.

  Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, as Azrael filled her mind. His irresistible smile, his wicked sense of fun, and his small acts of chivalry that were like second nature to him but meant so much to her.

  The way he made her feel so… human.

  Trepidation spiked through her chest.

  For years she’d ignored the uneasy ripples in the back of her mind. The questions she refused to face, because it didn’t matter what the answers were. Nothing could change her fate.

  But I’ve never even tried to change things. The one time she had broken the rules and fallen in love, Steven, an innocent human, had died, and she hadn’t dared step out of line since.

  Until she met Azrael. And now she craved so much more than the Enclave allowed.

  All she’d ever wanted was a normal life. But even if her life wasn’t normal, that didn’t mean she had to accept the status quo forever. She might not like the answers she found. But she couldn’t hide in the shadows of ignorance any longer.

  She opened Lily’s personal fil
e and the coiled tension in her chest tightened as she scanned the in-depth analysis of Lily’s background.

  Why did they need that level of detail? She could understand the medical history, but what did her parents’ occupations or Lily’s education have to do with anything? It was more like a dossier than a medical record.

  Rowan glanced across the office, but the vampires appeared supremely uninterested in what she was doing. Dread slithered through her as she found the file on the previous woman she had rescued, Zoë Burton.

  There was the same detail on her background, including her education and achievements. A full medical history, ending in the birth of her child and the death of Zoë.

  She scanned the records of the first two women she had saved, and the clinical reports on the progress of their pregnancies seared into her brain. Neither had survived the birth of their child.

  She dug deeper. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and her hands were clammy. She’d always assumed that the many others in the past had had their memories wiped before being returned to their previous lives.

  That, after all, was the Enclave’s official line. They would keep the dhampir and return the mother home. Except she’d now gone back more than twenty years in the archives and the terrible suspicion that had surfaced when she’d been talking with Lily now confronted her, stark statistics on the screen.

  Not one woman had survived the birth.

  That wasn’t all. There were other cases where the embryo had spontaneously aborted within the first few weeks—not that that was unusual. But without fail, the woman died at the same time. She didn’t need a degree in medicine to know something wasn’t right about that.

  She checked her own mother’s files, but there was nothing there that Meg hadn’t shared with her. Nausea churned in her stomach, as she went back further in time to Brad’s mother. And then she skimmed the records of her friends who had died over the last few years. Shivers prickled over her arms and inched along her spine and with chilled fingers she finally logged out.