Friends? FuckingFriends? That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.
I kicked open Arc’s bedroom door and looked around, hands fisted at my sides.
I had to occupy my mind, but I needed a break from the damn Dragon’s journal and Astral’s history. There were still some questions left unanswered and one of them was “who the Hell is that damn Warlock and why’s he torturing Dimitri under Arc’s command?”
With no idea what to look for, I started opening and rummaging through his desk drawers. There were little chances I’d find anything useful, I knew that. But going to the Archives so soon after being dismissed by Maggie? Nope. I wasdonebeing pushed off ladders.
I could still get some clues here. After all, Arc didn’t store all his prophecies away. And I could still go over to his office at the City hall tomorrow, surely there would be something there.
I exhaled in frustration after the last drawer ended up being empty and slammed it back close.
Something rattled inside and I paused, my hand still on the vintage metallic handle. Pulling it back, I inspected the inside.False bottom.
Bingo.
With a disassembled pen I pulled the small plank of wood away and looked inside.
What the fuck?
Hundreds of articles, cut out from newspapers or printed off the internet. Some dating from the late 1500s and some as recent as a couple of years ago. The oldest talked about giant people found dead, the newest ones labeling those people as Nephilims.
I took all the papers out and sat on the floor, skimming over the content. All of them were killed in a mysterious way, their giant bodies intact, only dark stains marring some of their body parts. The more recent articles pointed out that Nephilims were known to be actual Immortals and questioned the cause of death as the oldest ones, still unaware of the Immortals’ existence, blamed some sort of heart failure.
All Nephilims killed in the same way. All in various stages of madness.
It wasn’t a coincidence. It was a fuckinghuntdone in the span of centuries, maybe even longer. But why? And, was Arc the one responsible for it? With his Warlock friend?
Was this why Dimitri—
My vision darkened and head swirled, Arc’s room fading around me.
For fuck’s sakes.
The room felt more haunting now that I saw it for the second time. Poorly washed blood spatters dotted the dark green tiled walls and floor.
Dimitri was panting, head drooping in front of him, sitting in the same chair as he was the last time, hands cuffed behind his back.
“It’s not working on him,” the Warlock said, and my—Arc’s—head lazily turned back toward him. “And we’ll need some new tools soon. His blood is eating at everything.”
Arc gave a slow, calculating nod. “We’ll send someone to get more.”
Nomin stared at him, a frown creasing his eyebrows. “Do you want to keep going?” he asked.
It was the first time I could study the Warlock from up-close. His dark wavy hair was half tied back behind his head, showing an array of golden rings on his rounded ears. His skin, a light brown, had some olive undertone from the strange lighting and color of the room. But it was his eyes that were mesmerizing; a light hazel flecked with thousands of golden stars, some of them shimmering and turning a deep red for fractions of seconds, and underlined with a thin line of kohl.
“Why would we stop?” Arc asked. “We didn’t get what we were looking for.”
“And we won’t,” Nomin insisted. “Your powers are useless on him. And even if his Immortal parent was a Hellriser, you share a mate, which would make it painful to do real damage to him.”
“It doesn’t seem to stopyou.” Dimitri coughed from the other side of the room.
Nomin’s throat bobbed as he turned around, focusing on the rusted makeshift table covered with damaged surgical equipment.
“Oh right, I forgot.” The Nephilim chuckled dryly. “You’re not in control of your own actions. How does it feel to have someone rummaging inside your head, forcing you to slice one of your own because he can’t be bothered to endure a little pain?”
One of his own?What—
“He doesn’t know Lola, yet,” Arc drawled. “The mate link—no matter how weak her lack of soul makes it—didn’t snap into place yet.”
