Soul Weaver Page 9

  Seasoned harvesters settled in for the long wait, prepared to amuse themselves. They drew straws, made bets, and wagered for the next spot in line, knowing if they were among the first, they could earn a few hours of freedom from their duties as the others waited their turn.

  Harvesters learned quickly that time moved slower in Dis. Twelve hours topside equaled seven days here. Though mending every set of wings present would take the better part of a week, at the end of that time, Nathaniel would go home to his own bed and wake to the morning after he arrived in Dis.

  Delphi thought by forcing the harvesters into fellowship, confining them here, they would embrace the values most had disavowed and devote those long days to contemplation.

  He was wrong.

  If anything, the fallen angels resented their new positions as harvesters. They had gone from guarding gentle spirits in paradise to ripping corrupt ones from their mortal hosts on Earth. Their punishment was gruesome, and not all who fell could handle the job.

  Some fell even farther, and they were imprisoned in the very pits they’d helped fill.

  Nathaniel adjusted his position, then leaned forward and scanned the woven fabric for dangerous imperfections. His loom glowed with muted light, holding the writhing yarn immobile until he finished his task.

  When he had enough cloth to reupholster Reuel’s massive wings, he fit the length of fabric to the bony limbs and pulled the copper spool and hooked needle from his pocket. He stitched for several hours before tying his knot and signaling Reuel to rise.

  “Ah.” Reuel thrust his wings downward. “That is much better.” His feet cleared several inches above the floor before he lighted. “Well done, Weaver, as always.” They clasped forearms; then he left with another slice of his broad wings through the air.

  Nathaniel straightened while the muscles in his back protested the long hours spent hunched over his workstation and Reuel.

  “Ready for round two?” Saul asked as he settled at Nathaniel’s feet.

  “Shouldn’t you let some of the younger ones go first?” They were the most annoying. Hopping from foot to foot, flittering their wings like butterflies caught in a net. “They’re more impatient than the ancients.”

  “So am I.” Saul twisted to face him. “Hasn’t it occurred to you the only ‘safe hands’ in Dis are attached to seraphim arms?”

  He shredded the soul cloth still in his hands. “We don’t know for certain where Delphi sent Bran.” One of two places, but he could only guess which. Dis was unsafe for Nephilim, but Delphi often underestimated his kind’s hatred for half-breeds. Whether it was done on purpose or in an attempt to force an accord was anyone’s guess. “Do you think he’s with the Order?”

  Bran had founded the Order of the Nephilim as a safe haven for his kind. Since they had a small medical staff at their compound, it would be the best choice for his care.

  “I can’t be sure.” Saul glanced toward the door. “Delphi could have kept him here, in the seraph’s quarters. Do you really want to chance that?”

  Seven days at the mercy of the twins and others like them. Nathaniel couldn’t risk it. “Turn around.” He rested a hand below Saul’s shoulder. “Hold still.”

  For once, his brother did as he was told.

  Chapter Ten

  Saul strolled through the double doors and stepped out into the hallway that led to Delphi’s quarters. Arestes and Trates kept rooms to either side of his, and if Saul had to guess, they would have had Bran brought to another seraph’s quarters. It wouldn’t do for Delphi to hear them play.

  With a sigh, Saul picked up his pace. If the boy was hurt—well, hurt worse—Nathaniel would blame him and Saul wasn’t ready to lose his brother’s goodwill yet. Not when he’d be trailing him for the next few weeks. Better to deliver Bran to his home and let the Nephilim handle him.

  Saul strained his ears but heard nothing. His foot hit and slid on his next step. Streaks shone dull across the glossy black marble floor. He knelt and let his fingers trace the outline of a boot.

  They came away red-brown. Old blood. Dried blood. Bran.

  Following the smears to a room at the far end of the hall, Saul pressed an ear to the door.

  “… won’t last the week…”

  “… father doesn’t care where you are…”

  “… Weaver can’t save you, mongrel…”

  Pressing his forehead to the door, Saul dismissed the odd tightness in his chest. He exhaled, eyed the door, then kicked it in. Wood splintered. The door hung from its hinges. Six seraphs jumped to their feet and faced him, scowls plastered on their faces. The tallest pair approached.

  “What are you doing here, Saul?” they asked as one.

  “Is twin-speak something all seraphs are taught at creation?” They cast him a confused look. Saul sighed. “Never mind. I came for my… for the Nephilim. I’m here on the Weaver’s orders.”

  “Not as his father?” another seraph asked from the corner.

  Ignoring the question, Saul entered the room. Bran was easy to spot. He was sprawled across a low cot. One of his legs was… wrong. His face was smashed and blood concealed his features.

  The ball of rage in Saul’s gut ignited. “Is he alive?”

  “What do you care?” that same seraph asked.

  If Bran died, Nathaniel would snap. The shears would be lost, the key to the gates of Heaven would be ripped from Saul’s fingers, and he would lose his best chance to reclaim Mairi’s soul.

  “I’m taking him to the Order’s compound.” Saul shoved through the seraphs to reach Bran.

  “He was given into our care—” the tallest pair said.

  Saul spun on his heel. Except for their differences in height, these seraphs were all identical. All had lank black hair and dull black eyes. Each had six sooty wings attached along their spines.

  He was outnumbered. His palm itched until he fisted his blade. “If I called Delphi in here, I wonder what he’d think of Bran’s condition. Is this how he left the boy? Perhaps I should go—”

  “Take him.” Agitated wings ruffled as the tallest pair cleared a path for Saul.

  “That’s what I figured,” he muttered. Turning his attention to Bran, Saul was at a loss.

  “Do you need help?” he heard from over his shoulder.

  “No.” Saul folded Bran’s arms across his stomach and adjusted him on the cot so he could get a grip on him. Bran’s chest rose and fell with wet gurgles. The prospect of holding his son for the first time since infancy made Saul’s palms sweaty. When Bran’s eyes cracked open and met his, he smiled. Or he tried to. Part of his mouth was frozen, his lips slack. Drool ran down his chin.

  “Father.” Bran’s laughter brought blood to his lips. “Now I know… I’m dead.”

  Biting back his retort, Saul used his dagger to slash a rift, then grunted with the effort it took to lift Bran into his arms. He stumbled through the portal into an alley behind the Order’s central compound. The center was shielded against portals and teleportation, so visitors had to enter the front door. Saul supposed it had something to do with the number of women and children inside.

  The Order was situated on miles of land outside the city of Aurora, in Cloud County, Kansas.

  He snorted as he always did and wondered if his brother or his son had picked the location.

  It fit with their senses of humor.

  Staggering under Bran’s weight, Saul’s knees gave and they hit the asphalt. For a minute, he sat there with Bran across his lap. Beneath the blood and swelling, Saul searched for a resemblance to Mairi. He found none. Bran looked like him, like Nathaniel. Perhaps Saul might have loved his son if he had Mairi’s wide eyes or her sloped nose, her thin lips or sharp chin. But he doubted it.

  Mairi’s love for Bran had killed her. If she hadn’t—He shut down that line of thought before he did something foolish, like snap Bran’s neck and dump him on the doorstep. That Mairi loved their son more than she wanted to stay with Saul had shattered him. She had be
en his everything.

  Saul shut his eyes, inhaled cool night air, and exhaled. He still had hope, and he clung to it.

  Dumping Bran from his lap onto the pavement, Saul knelt over his son.

  How many times had he stood over Bran’s bed when he was a child and considered snuffing out that tender life? The longer he stared at that battered face, the louder the voice in the back of his mind whispered no one would know if their twisted relationship ended here, tonight. Pressure on Bran’s throat where his windpipe was already crushed would quench Saul’s thirst for justice.

  He fit his hands around Bran’s throat, paused. Nathaniel would hunt him down and gut him for this. If Nathaniel snapped, would he withdraw as Saul had suspected? Or could he be lured to Azrael’s cause because he’d lost the person he loved most? Bran’s loss would shatter Nathaniel.

  Saul and Azrael could reform him while he was lost to his grief.

  Slight pressure caused Bran to stir, his chest to rattle. That same odd pressure built behind Saul’s breastbone until he scrambled backward, panting. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It was as if he were glued in place by the sight of Bran, by the knowledge of what he’d almost done.

  Heaven help him. His stomach rebelled. He’d almost killed his last living link to Mairi.

  “Hey, who’s out there?” a husky feminine voice called.

  “It’s Saul.” A flashlight shone in his eyes, blinded him. “There was an accident…”

  She kept the beam of light trained on him as she approached. “What kind of accident?”

  His voice broke. “It’s Bran.”

  The flashlight lowered, illuminating Bran’s crumpled form. The woman yelled over her shoulder, “Get Hannah out here now.”

  A second voice answered, “I’m on it.”

  The husky-voiced woman skidded to her knees at Bran’s side and her flashlight hit the pavement. “Oh, Bran, what did they do to you?” Her gaze snapped to Saul’s. “Who did this?” She reached for a knife at her belt and held it between them.

  “Delphi’s seraphs.” Saul stood and forced his legs steady. “Nathaniel asked me to bring Bran here.” At his words, the woman’s shoulders slumped a fraction. Of course hearing that eased her.

  “Thank you.” Her hand shook where she touched Bran’s cheek. “I just… thank you.”

  Saul inclined his head, sliced his rift, and left before he did something stupid.

  Like stay and see if his son survived the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning brought a somber Nathaniel to Chloe’s door. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed. Stubble covered his face and his enticing lips were turned down.

  “You look like you had a rough night.” Talk about an understatement. “What happened?”

  A smile ghosted his mouth. “My nephew was involved in an accident.” His brilliant eyes were empty of the teasing light from the previous day. “He isn’t doing well.”

  She touched his forearm. “I’m sorry he was hurt.” Coarse hairs tickled her palm, and the temptation to stroke him made her thumb glide over corded muscle. She dropped her hand before he noticed and stared at her feet, a much safer spot than anywhere on his body.

  “I could have prevented it.” His voice softened. “I shouldn’t have let him go.”

  Busy staring at his large hands, she almost missed what he said. His fingers were long and tapered. His broad palms would engulf her hand if he held it. Forcing her attention to his face, she said, “You can’t blame yourself. Once you get behind the wheel, anything can happen.” She was living proof of that. “So don’t beat yourself up over it. You did the same as anyone else would have in your shoes.”

  “You would think so.”

  His cryptic reply coupled with his tormented expression made her heart hurt. He must care deeply for his nephew to be so distraught. His pain softened her toward him, which couldn’t be a good thing. Not when she had trouble keeping her hands to herself around him already.

  Scrubbing a rough hand down his face, he left red marks behind. “I don’t think I’m up to negotiating contract details with you today. Can we do this tomorrow?”

  Happiness blossomed at the promise of seeing him again, but she hesitated to let him leave. “Would you like something to drink?” She licked her lips and he tracked the progress of her tongue. “Neve brought in some cookies. Homemade chocolate chip, if you’re interested.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped back. “But I should get going.”

  The pang in her chest took her by surprise, reminded her of every time she’d gotten her hopes up only to have them dashed. She almost laughed at how pathetic she must sound to him. This infatuation was one-sided like all the others. She really should know better by now.

  “No problem.” She resisted the urge to touch him again by balling her hands at her sides. “Get some rest. We can work out the details tomorrow, whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

  He must have caught the glimmer of hurt in her expression as she turned.

  “Chloe.” He caught her by the wrist. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” Her skin warmed beneath his and her pulse kicked up as he pulled her close.

  His frown was endearing, and he appeared as confused by his reaction as she was. “I said something to hurt you.”

  “No, don’t be silly.” She put up a token resistance with every step he dragged her forward. “I know you were turning the cookies down, not me.” Her struggle got her nowhere. “I mean, I know you’re not interested in me, as a person, and I’m not interested in you either…”

  She lost her train of thought when his hand slid down and linked their fingers. “You should go rest up.” Heat spun low through her belly and made it quiver. And I should go upstairs and take a cold shower.

  “Don’t leave on my account,” he said. “I’m already on my way out.”

  Chloe went limp in his hold. “How do you do that?”

  “I’m not doing anything.” His voice took a persuasive turn.

  She swallowed hard and kept her thoughts together by sheer force of will. “Yesterday you asked me about Neve having aspirin, and now I was thinking I wanted to go upstairs and you tell me you’ll leave so I can stay.”

  “There is a very simple explanation for both of those things.” With less than six inches between them, they inhaled each other’s breath and the closeness made her light-headed.

  “Yesterday you were in an obvious amount of pain. I suggested your coworker might keep something on hand you could take.” His thumb swiped across her cheek. “Just now, you tried to pull away from me, so I knew you wanted space. I didn’t want you to leave because I made you uncomfortable.”

  “I guess.” She was so warped. He was concerned about his nephew while she worried he could read minds, which was impossible. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “No.” He smiled fully for the first time since arriving. “But I’m flattered you think so.”

  His breath fanned her face, cinnamon sweet. She imagined a handful of Red Hots on his tongue and wondered if he kept a box in his pocket. He leaned in. When had he gotten so close?

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” She thumped his chest. “You’re already too smug for your own good.”

  “I’m not smug. I’m… confident.” He grinned. “There’s a difference.”

  He moved faster than she anticipated. Dropping her arm, he traded his hold for her hips, dragging her across the few inches left between them. His head lowered, lips parted, and she squeezed her eyes closed.

  His lips moved feather soft over hers in a slow claiming she felt from the crown of her head to the tips of her curling toes.

  When he deepened the kiss, she jerked free and covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t do that.”

  “What, kiss?” He sounded skeptical. “Everyone has been kissed.”

  “Of course I’ve been kissed.” She added a silent once. His eyes darken
ed in a way that should have unnerved her. “I meant I’ve never kissed someone I just met.”

  “Good.” His relaxed grin returned. “You shouldn’t offer your cookies to just anyone.”

  Chloe stepped back into the heat of his body and got right in his face. If she had an ounce more nerve, she would have kissed him again to prove her point, but she wasn’t that brave. Not yet. “You are going to stop making fun of me if you want that job.”

  “Maybe I want you more than I want the job.”

  They both froze stock-still. Her eyes widened and she saw his do the same. Their flirtations, or whatever they were, had taken a neat step into dangerous territory.

  The sound of running water filled the silence left by his shocking admission. Down the hall, a door clicked shut. “Did you guys come to an understanding?” Neve asked, walking into the room.

  Chloe and Nathaniel jumped apart as an ice bath of reality splashed over them.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, no, Nathaniel doesn’t feel up to negotiating today.”

  “That’s too bad. I hoped you guys would get the details nailed down so the repairs could be finished before fall gets here.” Neve squinted as she walked past a sunny window. “Maybe by then we’ll have cool enough weather to enjoy it.”

  “If you have time, I think we can work out the details.” Nathaniel’s gaze slid over her shoulder, toward her office door.

  Chloe’s palms dampened. “I thought you wanted to wait.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  Of course he had.

  A moment alone in Chloe’s office gave Nathaniel time to collect his scattered wits, or at least try. Rational thought eluded him while the taste of her lingered on his tongue.

  A mark. His lips burned from kissing a woman marked for death, one who remained here only because of his bond with her. How could he frown upon Saul for his mortal liaisons and then indulge himself with someone who wouldn’t live past the month’s end.

  He might have curbed his impulses before her soft hand rested on his arm, soothed him with hesitant strokes of her thumb. Her kind words had acted as a balm to his chafed soul.