“Father,” I said, aiming for nonchalance. Probably too late with the way I’d stumbled into the room. I made my wobbly legs move toward the kitchen and poured myself a drink of orange juice from the jug. “Drink?” I asked him over my shoulder as I tried to pull myself together.
“Do you have soda?”
I gazed in the fridge, spying a few cans. “Sure. Cola, Mountain Dew, or Fanta?”
“Is it diet?”
“The cola is.”
“I’ll have that.”
Who knew the angel of death was sugar conscious and a soda lover?
I poured the soda into a glass, added some ice, and passed it to him as I stepped into the living area.
“Daughter, sit, we have much to discuss.”
I did as I was told, taking residence in the oversized armchair by the French doors.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. I thought I was all out of pleasantries, but when faced with the angel of death, one minded their p’s and q’s.
My father’s cold gaze narrowed, and only years of dealing with Eloise prevented me from fidgeting or curling in on myself. “I gave you a task.”
“You did.”
A wave of power came from him before he clamped a lid on it. “What was that task?”
“To avoid exposure, and if I couldn’t, then I should minimize the loss of life.”
“How do you think that is going?”
Um, my grandmother is running around causing untold chaos and now has in her possession the ultimate guide to evil. “Fine.”
He blinked. Then from somewhere in his black flowing pants, he produced the latest model of a popular phone. He tapped the screen with a frown marring his forehead, then spun it to face me. A jerky video of the scene in Egypt played. Everything from Indigo’s snarling face with huge wings, to Layla’s death and rebirth. The title at the top read. “What movie is this? I need it in my life.” That movie was my life, and no, the owner of the video definitely didn’t want it.
“There are hundreds of these circulating the web,” my father ground out. “This is not being discreet.”
I swallowed, noting he’d not spoken about the exchange between Indigo and Michael. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed?Cora Roberts - Master of Wishful Thinking.
“The world cannot learn of our kind, Cora. If you threaten exposure, I must move to take you out.”
And we’d come full circle to him threatening my life. It wasn’t a parental visit without it.
I folded my arms. “Then who would do your bidding?”
“I could make a hundred more of you.”
“Nephilim? Sure. But not a hundred more of me. A powerful elemental born of an original bloodline mixed with an archangel.”
The phone in his hand disappeared and he leaned forward. Power swelled in the room, pushing against my flesh. Indigo shot forward to protect us, and my tired mind couldn’t stop her from exploding through. She’d left her wings buried, but the rest of me had changed.
My father tilted his head. “Cora has accepted you, creature?”
“My name is Indigo, and I am her family. Of course, she accepts me.”
“She chained you for years and was ashamed of you.” Indigo’s thoughts rippled with what he was saying.
What an asshole. “That’s not true, I was not ashamed, I was afraid. There’s a world of difference.”
