The cavern walls dripped with moisture from the recent rain, echoing every step that was taken by the girl who walked the Undergrounds. Her jet black hair was hidden beneath the hood of her cloak, her piercing green eyes illuminated by the light of the torch she held in her hand.
Val Linley was not here for games tonight.
Nestled between the cliff dwellings of Manitou Springs and the cave system that ran all through the mountain, the Undergrounds had been claimed by a witch coven in Manitou; a coven that Val was determined to become the thirteenth member of.
The position had been promised to her for quite some time. She was frustrated by that. Every time she would come close to being inducted and complete the tasks that were assigned to her, there was always something else that she was given to do.
That was the way Donovan worked. He loved to string them along; her more than the rest of them. Absolutely everything was a game to him.
The first few times he had pulled that on Val, she had chosen to submit and not put up a fight; but after she had recently delivered Kyla James to him on a silver plate, Val had finally had enough. She had executed her orders to perfection. She had done everything she was asked to do, and still Donovan had denied her what she was owed.
It wasn’t enough that he was holding her position in the coven for her. Val wanted it now. She was not about to let someone else come in and take what was rightfully hers; not when she had given so much for it. She would spill blood before letting that happen.
Unfortunately, what Val wanted and what she actually got were two very different things. If the witches were the ones in charge of this operation, there never would have been a hitch from the start. But the witches weren’t the ones in charge; the Nephilim were. Sick, depraved creatures who were only half-human. Selfish, vindictive beings whose blood ran red but who were hardly men. Their power was to be feared and their anger, even more. No man could hold the lust or the jealousy of these. The destruction they could bear wasn’t something to be grasped, for they were birthed for vindication, the cataclysm of all things. Angry retribution. Children of wrath. There was nothing dark enough to describe what the Nephilim were.
And they were so frighteningly beautiful that the mortals couldn’t help but be drawn to them.
Most of them were, anyway. There were a few Nephilim half-breeds (like Donovan’s slimy informant, Cerin) that gave “deformed and unfortunate” a whole new meaning. But the pure Nephilim, the children of angels and the daughters of men, these were more stunning than any human could grasp. That was why it was so easy for them to manipulate and control…because humans were enslaved to physical beauty.
Val knew how to use that to her advantage.
Her blood may have proved her humanity, but she refused to let herself be defined by such a weak and limited race. What she operated out of, what she could do, it didn’t do justice to call her human. She may not have been half-angel, but she knew how to wield power that few mortals ever could. She just hadn’t been permitted to step into it yet.
Tensing her lips as she walked into the chamber, Val was careful to keep her eyes fixed on the ground. She was not permitted to make eye contact with the others; not until she was officially inducted. Just one of the many things she resented Donovan for.
Val was almost certain that he reveled in her humility. He took every chance he got to put her in her place. Everyone knew she should have been the first witch to be inducted into the Manitou Coven, and yet no one spoke up to let Donovan know it. They were all too afraid of him.
Pathetic, sniveling cowards, Val thought. She kept her eyes on the floor.
The rocks hung heavy on the walls tonight. There was a weight there, despite Donovan’s absence, an uncertainty that made everyone who had gathered feel out of control.
Witches did not like to be out of control; Val less than any of them.
She stood along the wall with her hands folded in front of her as the twelve took their place at the circle at the center of the chamber. Jealousy burned in Val as she watched them step forward, these witches and warlocks who appeared on the outside as normal everyday people. They were not the sort that anyone would suspect of something so dark. They were normal. They were average. Not a single of the twelve stood out in any way.
Val was more powerful in the art of dark magic than all of them combined. It was in her blood; her life force…her existence. She had sold her very soul to this darkness, and as a result, she had access to what the others did not. That was why it didn’t make sense that Donovan would hold her at bay instead of utilizing her power. There wasn’t another witch or warlock here that could touch what she had.
Trying to hold back the disgust on her face so that no one could see it, Val scanned the room discreetly to see who was there. The twelve, she expected. They were not permitted to miss a meeting, even one that was called in the absence of their worshipful leader.
Val couldn’t hide her disgust any longer when her eyes fell to Balak, the towering, ebony-skinned Naphil who stood like a gargoyle at the entrance of the room. He walked slowly back and forth across the width of the chamber, his hands behind his back and his chin lifted up in picturesque arrogance.
The display was almost sad. Balak took far too much pleasure in giving orders when Donovan was gone, especially for one whose words carried so little weight. Val didn’t know why Donovan wasn’t back yet from whatever it was that he had to leave to accomplish, but his absence frustrated her all through this miserable excuse for a meeting. Listening to Balak, Donovan’s second-in-command speak to them as if he had all of his leader’s authority was irritating at the very least. Val had a difficult time standing still and keeping herself from showing what she really felt as she watched him. Balak didn’t have Donovan’s authority; he didn’t have any authority. And the fact that he was standing here acting like he did made Val want to gag out loud.
She resisted the urge, knowing it wouldn’t be worth the trouble it would cause her. Balak didn’t do well to any disrespecting him. None of the Nephilim did.
Dropping her eyes back to the stony cavern ground, Val forced her mind away from the dozen or so things she would love to say to Balak right now to knock him off of his pedestal. She also forced herself to let go of her resentment toward Donovan for leaving them here with this fool.
Donovan had called it “business,” whatever he was doing in London. To him, that could have meant anything. From what she had heard, he was dealing with some witches out there that they needed for God-only-knew what reason. Val didn’t have any idea. It made her nervous that Donovan was seeking aide from another coven instead of using the one he had the most direct charge over. Not that Val could blame him for that. Looking around the chamber at the ones who stood here, it was all she could do not to cringe in embarrassment. These twelve didn’t know how to practice dark magic any better than a junior high girl at a sleepover with a Ouija board.
Val had never been so eager to get out of the ritual chamber. Balak’s meeting had been insufferable, but it was more than that that drove her away from here. The last thing she wanted to do was face him right now. She didn’t want to talk to him.
Unfortunately, Balak did.
Val wasted no time in slipping out the entrance, but it didn’t do her any good. She had only gone ten steps when a towering Naphil who was infinitely stronger than she was grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a hideaway room in the cave system that served as a storage space for the coven. Val gasped, but she didn’t scream. She had trained herself not to in moments of surprise. Besides, Balak’s grabbing her like this and forcing himself on her was not that surprising.
He wasn’t as careful as he normally would have been. He knew Donovan was gone, and the fear Val worked so well to control in herself nearly spiked out of control when Balak slammed her against the rocks behind her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, but sometimes he didn’t have to try. Balak, much like the other Nephilim, often underestimated the extent of his own strength, especially in instances where his adrenaline was suddenly heightened.
Holding her down, Balak kissed her neck. “I was about driven insane in that meeting,” he breathed to her. His grip on her tightened with every word he spoke. “I wanted nothing more than to ravage you the entire time.”
Val trembled nervously and forced the tensest smile she had ever worn. Her heart skipped in abnormal fear when she felt the strength of Balak’s grip.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he told her. “If Donovan hadn’t called you to that meeting, I never would have stopped…”
That was what it took for Val to shove him off. “Stop!” she hissed at him. “We have to stop this…”
Remembering back to what she had seen in Donovan’s eyes last night when he had spoken to her here in these caverns, Val was afraid of more than the forceful grip of the Naphil that was pinning her to the wall.
Balak did not look happy when she resisted him.
“If we keep this up,” she explained to him, “it’s only a matter of time before Donovan finds out.”
“He won’t find out,” Balak assured her. He grabbed her again and moved back to her neck, and Val put out her arm to block him.
“You can’t be naïve enough to believe that,” she said. “You know as well as I do that Donovan’s discernment supersedes all of ours.”
Saying it out loud like that, Val realized just how foolish she had been in taking this risk. At first it had been about gaining what she wanted from Balak, toying with that power and reveling in every minute of it. But that was before she and Donovan had gotten involved. Now she feared what he might do if he were to find out. Donovan took just about anything as betrayal, and Val knew how he dealt with traitors.
“We have gotten too close,” she told Balak. “It’s time we stop playing with fire.”
Balak didn’t agree with her. That was obvious by the way he grunted under his breath and pushed her back up against the cold stone wall. Val could feel his anger at the suggestion through his grip that held her. She didn’t want to be here anymore. More than anything, she just wanted to break free from his iron hands and get as far away from these caves as she could. She might only have known in part, but she knew what the Nephilim were capable of when they became angry, and she didn’t want to be close to that. They didn’t exactly have the best self-control when these situations presented themselves.
“Balak, please…” she said in a small voice.
Ironic that that would be the one thing that caused his grip to soften.
Balak didn’t say anything else to her as he turned away and left her there, and as Val walked away from him, she shook off her fear and told herself it was unfounded. Balak wasn’t going to do anything to her. He needed her too much. If he were to kill her, he couldn’t coerce her into sex again, and as dumb as he may have been, she knew he would realize that.
In other words, she owned him.
No, Val didn’t need to concern herself with fear over this primordial Naphil doing something rash. She had more important things to worry about, like staying unreadable to Donovan when he returned and following through with the last assignment he gave her: Causing an unbridgeable rift between Kyla James and the boy she had never deserved.
Val Linley was not here for games tonight.
Nestled between the cliff dwellings of Manitou Springs and the cave system that ran all through the mountain, the Undergrounds had been claimed by a witch coven in Manitou; a coven that Val was determined to become the thirteenth member of.
The position had been promised to her for quite some time. She was frustrated by that. Every time she would come close to being inducted and complete the tasks that were assigned to her, there was always something else that she was given to do.
That was the way Donovan worked. He loved to string them along; her more than the rest of them. Absolutely everything was a game to him.
The first few times he had pulled that on Val, she had chosen to submit and not put up a fight; but after she had recently delivered Kyla James to him on a silver plate, Val had finally had enough. She had executed her orders to perfection. She had done everything she was asked to do, and still Donovan had denied her what she was owed.
It wasn’t enough that he was holding her position in the coven for her. Val wanted it now. She was not about to let someone else come in and take what was rightfully hers; not when she had given so much for it. She would spill blood before letting that happen.
Unfortunately, what Val wanted and what she actually got were two very different things. If the witches were the ones in charge of this operation, there never would have been a hitch from the start. But the witches weren’t the ones in charge; the Nephilim were. Sick, depraved creatures who were only half-human. Selfish, vindictive beings whose blood ran red but who were hardly men. Their power was to be feared and their anger, even more. No man could hold the lust or the jealousy of these. The destruction they could bear wasn’t something to be grasped, for they were birthed for vindication, the cataclysm of all things. Angry retribution. Children of wrath. There was nothing dark enough to describe what the Nephilim were.
And they were so frighteningly beautiful that the mortals couldn’t help but be drawn to them.
Most of them were, anyway. There were a few Nephilim half-breeds (like Donovan’s slimy informant, Cerin) that gave “deformed and unfortunate” a whole new meaning. But the pure Nephilim, the children of angels and the daughters of men, these were more stunning than any human could grasp. That was why it was so easy for them to manipulate and control…because humans were enslaved to physical beauty.
Val knew how to use that to her advantage.
Her blood may have proved her humanity, but she refused to let herself be defined by such a weak and limited race. What she operated out of, what she could do, it didn’t do justice to call her human. She may not have been half-angel, but she knew how to wield power that few mortals ever could. She just hadn’t been permitted to step into it yet.
Tensing her lips as she walked into the chamber, Val was careful to keep her eyes fixed on the ground. She was not permitted to make eye contact with the others; not until she was officially inducted. Just one of the many things she resented Donovan for.
Val was almost certain that he reveled in her humility. He took every chance he got to put her in her place. Everyone knew she should have been the first witch to be inducted into the Manitou Coven, and yet no one spoke up to let Donovan know it. They were all too afraid of him.
Pathetic, sniveling cowards, Val thought. She kept her eyes on the floor.
The rocks hung heavy on the walls tonight. There was a weight there, despite Donovan’s absence, an uncertainty that made everyone who had gathered feel out of control.
Witches did not like to be out of control; Val less than any of them.
She stood along the wall with her hands folded in front of her as the twelve took their place at the circle at the center of the chamber. Jealousy burned in Val as she watched them step forward, these witches and warlocks who appeared on the outside as normal everyday people. They were not the sort that anyone would suspect of something so dark. They were normal. They were average. Not a single of the twelve stood out in any way.
Val was more powerful in the art of dark magic than all of them combined. It was in her blood; her life force…her existence. She had sold her very soul to this darkness, and as a result, she had access to what the others did not. That was why it didn’t make sense that Donovan would hold her at bay instead of utilizing her power. There wasn’t another witch or warlock here that could touch what she had.
Trying to hold back the disgust on her face so that no one could see it, Val scanned the room discreetly to see who was there. The twelve, she expected. They were not permitted to miss a meeting, even one that was called in the absence of their worshipful leader.
Val couldn’t hide her disgust any longer when her eyes fell to Balak, the towering, ebony-skinned Naphil who stood like a gargoyle at the entrance of the room. He walked slowly back and forth across the width of the chamber, his hands behind his back and his chin lifted up in picturesque arrogance.
The display was almost sad. Balak took far too much pleasure in giving orders when Donovan was gone, especially for one whose words carried so little weight. Val didn’t know why Donovan wasn’t back yet from whatever it was that he had to leave to accomplish, but his absence frustrated her all through this miserable excuse for a meeting. Listening to Balak, Donovan’s second-in-command speak to them as if he had all of his leader’s authority was irritating at the very least. Val had a difficult time standing still and keeping herself from showing what she really felt as she watched him. Balak didn’t have Donovan’s authority; he didn’t have any authority. And the fact that he was standing here acting like he did made Val want to gag out loud.
She resisted the urge, knowing it wouldn’t be worth the trouble it would cause her. Balak didn’t do well to any disrespecting him. None of the Nephilim did.
Dropping her eyes back to the stony cavern ground, Val forced her mind away from the dozen or so things she would love to say to Balak right now to knock him off of his pedestal. She also forced herself to let go of her resentment toward Donovan for leaving them here with this fool.
Donovan had called it “business,” whatever he was doing in London. To him, that could have meant anything. From what she had heard, he was dealing with some witches out there that they needed for God-only-knew what reason. Val didn’t have any idea. It made her nervous that Donovan was seeking aide from another coven instead of using the one he had the most direct charge over. Not that Val could blame him for that. Looking around the chamber at the ones who stood here, it was all she could do not to cringe in embarrassment. These twelve didn’t know how to practice dark magic any better than a junior high girl at a sleepover with a Ouija board.
Val had never been so eager to get out of the ritual chamber. Balak’s meeting had been insufferable, but it was more than that that drove her away from here. The last thing she wanted to do was face him right now. She didn’t want to talk to him.
Unfortunately, Balak did.
Val wasted no time in slipping out the entrance, but it didn’t do her any good. She had only gone ten steps when a towering Naphil who was infinitely stronger than she was grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a hideaway room in the cave system that served as a storage space for the coven. Val gasped, but she didn’t scream. She had trained herself not to in moments of surprise. Besides, Balak’s grabbing her like this and forcing himself on her was not that surprising.
He wasn’t as careful as he normally would have been. He knew Donovan was gone, and the fear Val worked so well to control in herself nearly spiked out of control when Balak slammed her against the rocks behind her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, but sometimes he didn’t have to try. Balak, much like the other Nephilim, often underestimated the extent of his own strength, especially in instances where his adrenaline was suddenly heightened.
Holding her down, Balak kissed her neck. “I was about driven insane in that meeting,” he breathed to her. His grip on her tightened with every word he spoke. “I wanted nothing more than to ravage you the entire time.”
Val trembled nervously and forced the tensest smile she had ever worn. Her heart skipped in abnormal fear when she felt the strength of Balak’s grip.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he told her. “If Donovan hadn’t called you to that meeting, I never would have stopped…”
That was what it took for Val to shove him off. “Stop!” she hissed at him. “We have to stop this…”
Remembering back to what she had seen in Donovan’s eyes last night when he had spoken to her here in these caverns, Val was afraid of more than the forceful grip of the Naphil that was pinning her to the wall.
Balak did not look happy when she resisted him.
“If we keep this up,” she explained to him, “it’s only a matter of time before Donovan finds out.”
“He won’t find out,” Balak assured her. He grabbed her again and moved back to her neck, and Val put out her arm to block him.
“You can’t be naïve enough to believe that,” she said. “You know as well as I do that Donovan’s discernment supersedes all of ours.”
Saying it out loud like that, Val realized just how foolish she had been in taking this risk. At first it had been about gaining what she wanted from Balak, toying with that power and reveling in every minute of it. But that was before she and Donovan had gotten involved. Now she feared what he might do if he were to find out. Donovan took just about anything as betrayal, and Val knew how he dealt with traitors.
“We have gotten too close,” she told Balak. “It’s time we stop playing with fire.”
Balak didn’t agree with her. That was obvious by the way he grunted under his breath and pushed her back up against the cold stone wall. Val could feel his anger at the suggestion through his grip that held her. She didn’t want to be here anymore. More than anything, she just wanted to break free from his iron hands and get as far away from these caves as she could. She might only have known in part, but she knew what the Nephilim were capable of when they became angry, and she didn’t want to be close to that. They didn’t exactly have the best self-control when these situations presented themselves.
“Balak, please…” she said in a small voice.
Ironic that that would be the one thing that caused his grip to soften.
Balak didn’t say anything else to her as he turned away and left her there, and as Val walked away from him, she shook off her fear and told herself it was unfounded. Balak wasn’t going to do anything to her. He needed her too much. If he were to kill her, he couldn’t coerce her into sex again, and as dumb as he may have been, she knew he would realize that.
In other words, she owned him.
No, Val didn’t need to concern herself with fear over this primordial Naphil doing something rash. She had more important things to worry about, like staying unreadable to Donovan when he returned and following through with the last assignment he gave her: Causing an unbridgeable rift between Kyla James and the boy she had never deserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment