Of Wings and Wolves Page 9
“Very well. If you ask it of me.”
It made her feel like she was going insane to watch how slowly he prepared himself when Abram was wrestling with a monster twice his height. Nash shed his shirt, rolled out his shoulders, and faced the monster.
How could he care so little about her brother being in danger?
“Hurry!” Summer urged.
The wings didn’t grow from his back. They simply appeared with a flare of light, which was so bright that she was rendered momentarily blind. When her vision cleared again, Nash had already moved into the fight.
The gibborim turned to swipe at Nash, and Summer realized that its back was a ragged mess. There were open wounds where its wings should have been planted, and organs twitched inside its body—were those lungs?
Abram scrambled to the place he had dropped the shotgun. But the instant he picked it up, Nash landed next to him. “Stay out of the way, mortal,” Nash said. “I can’t have you shooting me accidentally.” He jerked the shotgun out of Abram’s hands and flung it into the trees before taking flight once more.
Summer darted across the clearing and snagged Abram’s hand. “That fucker took the gun!” he said, shaking her off immediately.
“Don’t worry. He knows what he’s doing,” Summer said. Silently, she added, I hope.
But her brother wasn’t listening. He broke free to search for the shotgun.
After watching Nash drive away the balam so easily, Summer had expected him to dispatch this creature with the same ease. But this thing—this gibborim—was so much larger, and so much stronger. Nash’s punches didn’t seem to have any real effect.
Summer had to change. She had to help him.
The gibborim’s hand closed on one of Nash’s wings and jerked him out of the sky. His shout of surprise pierced straight through Summer’s heart, breaking her concentration before she could even find it. All Summer could do was watch helplessly as Nash was pinned to the mud with a hand at his throat.
Abram emerged from the forest with the shotgun. “Get down!” he called to Summer, and she threw herself to the ground.
Double ought buckshot ripped through the gibborim’s wounded back. It reared and screamed—without releasing Nash’s throat.
His eyes slid closed. His wings flickered, faded, vanished.
The gibborim turned to face Abram with Nash in hand. The shotgun had no effect on it from the front. Summer had to get him to turn around again.
She grabbed one of the rocks lining Gran’s flowerbed and hurled it at the gibborim’s back. She struck the spine. “Hey!” she yelled, throwing another rock.
It rounded on her with a screeching cry. Two long steps, and it reached for her with clawed hands—
A gunshot split the air, and its face went slack with shock.
The gibborim fell to the mud at her feet.
Abram advanced on it, aiming the shotgun at its back. His face was calm as he squeezed the trigger again. Summer clapped her hands over her mouth and tried not to scream.
Once it stopped twitching, Abram kicked the gibborim onto its back. Silver fluid gushed out of its wounds.
“I think that did it,” he said, calm as ever.
Summer was safe. Now she could go into hysterics.
But the sight of Nash sprawled in the mud a few feet away managed to drive away her urge to freak out. She dropped by his side instead.
His wings were gone and his eyes were shut. He didn’t react when she shook his shoulder. His skin was slicked with silver blood, and she had no way to tell if it belonged to the gibborim, or because of some terrible wound she couldn’t find. She had to get him inside and wash him off.
Summer grunted as she tried to lift Nash.
“What are you doing?” Abram asked.
“What’s it look like? Are you going to help me?”
He didn’t move.
She was strong—stronger than Abram, in fact—but Nash was tall, so getting him off the ground was awkward more than difficult. But once she had him in her arms, she was surprised to find that he was as light as though he was hollow-boned.
Summer staggered toward the cottage. “At least open the front door,” she said through gritted teeth.
Abram didn’t move, but Gran was already waiting to let her in.
“You’re crazy,” he said as Gran rushed ahead to open Summer’s bedroom door.
“He did just try to save you,” Gran said. “You could show a little gratitude, Abram.”
“He didn’t leave me behind when I was healing from the balam attack, and I owe him.” Summer settled Nash on her bed. He looked strange and out of place in her room, which was cluttered with all of her knickknacks and posters.
“He’s the one who saved you from the balam?” Abram asked.
“Yes. And you can help me clean his wounds, or you can go bury the gibborim’s body. Your choice.”
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said.
He left her room and slammed the door behind him.
nine
Summer watched Nash sleep for a few hours. He didn’t seem to dream—his eyelids never fluttered, and he didn’t stir. Not even once.
She didn’t really worry about it at first. Maybe angels were just deep sleepers. What did she know? But when she fell asleep sitting up next to her bed and woke up to find that he was in the same place she had left him, tendrils of worry crept into her heart.
“This is the angel you were talking about, isn’t it?” Gran asked when she delivered breakfast the next morning. She was obviously feeling bad about the previous night’s argument, since she had cooked a giant steak in addition to the usual bacon. The beef had the barest imprint of grill marks. Just heated enough to keep it from being cold on the inside.
“Him,” Summer corrected, taking the plate. “Thank you.”
Gran’s eyes swept over his body. She didn’t show a hint of recognition, but a sly smile crept over her lips. “He is pretty sexy.”
“Gran!”
“I’m old, not blind. Don’t worry, babe. He’s not my type anyway.”
“Why? Because he’s male, or because he’s not human?”
“I ain’t got no biases against preternatural critters. You know that.”
“I don’t know how much I really know about you at all anymore,” Summer said. She picked at a piece of bacon, unable to meet her grandmother’s eyes. “But thanks for the breakfast.”
Gran sighed. “You’re welcome. Need anything for the bird boy?”
“Gran…” Summer said warningly, but her grandmother’s expression was innocent. “No, his injuries were gone by the time I washed the blood away. I have no clue why he hasn’t woken up.” She nibbled on the bacon and gave Gran a sideways look. “You’re not going to warn me away from him, like Abram did?”
“Not a chance. You’re a grownup now, babe. Try to have fun.” She winked and left.
Being left alone with Nash in her bed was kind of awkward, even if he was asleep. It was the first time she’d had a man other than Sir Lumpy in her bed, and Sir Lumpy was not nearly as sexy. Her eyes roved over his bare chest, his arms, the vee of muscle that disappeared into the hem of his pants.
As if he could feel her watching, his eyes opened. “Summer,” he said, his voice heavy with the grogginess of sleep.
“Hey, sleepy,” Summer said. “Feeling rested?”
“Very.” He sat up, and the blankets pooled in his lap. He looked down at his uninjured chest, and then his eyes moved to take in the entire room, from Summer’s island poster, to her workstation in the corner, and the large glass doors. “Where am I?”
“This is my bedroom.”
“Really?” Nash said, and he looked around again with renewed interest. When his gaze fell on her dresser and stayed, she realized that she had left underwear hanging out of one of her drawers.
She pushed the panties inside and closed it. “You healed awfully quickly. I thought I was the only one that could do that.”
“It takes much more than damage to our physical forms to leave a mark,” Nash said. “How did you survive the gibborim’s attack?”
“Believe it or not, Abram and I are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. The gibborim was easily distracted. I caught his attention, and my brother…” Summer trailed off and swallowed hard. She still wasn’t comfortable remembering what Abram had done. He was all but a pacifist—for the love of all that was good, he was a freaking vegetarian. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger and blast the gibborim’s skull open when it came down to the wire.
“I’m impressed,” Nash said.
Summer’s gaze traced over his bare arms, and the way that they flexed as he leaned his weight on one of them. Fine veins traced the muscle. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. “I’m not. Neither of us ever wanted to kill someone. Something.” With a groan, Summer dropped to the bed beside him and rubbed her hands over her face. “It was like Abram moved on instinct. He was amazing.”
“I expect he was.”
The bare skin of his upper arm caressed hers, and Summer was suddenly acutely aware that she was sitting with a shirtless man—a man who was staring at her like she had just delivered herself to him as breakfast in bed. Nash’s body heat was magnetic.
The door opened, and Abram himself walked in, carrying one of his spare shirts. Summer wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had been listening from the hallway. He was sneaky like that.
He tossed the shirt to Nash, who had to sit up—and away from Summer—in order to catch it. Nash gave her a small smile before tugging it over his head. She tried not to feel disappointed. “If it seemed to you that Abram attacked on instinct, then it’s probably because he did,” Nash said. “From the first time I laid eyes on him, I identified him as a kopis.”
The corner of Summer’s mouth twitched. “Bless you.”
“I could fire you for impudence, intern.” His head popped out of the shirt. Summer couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his hair sticking up with static.
“You’re not going to fire me. What’s a kopis?”
“Shortly before I was…” His jaw tightened. “Before I came here, the angels worked in alliance with the kings of man to establish a new class of warrior called kopides. We were attempting to separate demons and angels from the much feebler human species to prevent xenocide, and kopides were designed to safeguard the survivors.” A smirk. “Kopides are somewhat less feeble than the average mortal.”
“Feeble,” Abram echoed, arms folded across his chest. He was too muscular for his arms to sit flat, and he glowered like a storm on the verge of breaking.
“I did say somewhat less,” Nash said. “I assume you’re of this class, if you can ‘sense’ the presence of angels and kill on instinct. I would be fascinated to know more about the family that produced siblings such as you two.”
“You’re not the only one,” Summer said.
“Summer,” Abram said, indicating in one word that he wanted to speak to her privately.
She rose from the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute, Nash.”
He reclined against her wall, drawing one knee to his chest. “I’ll wait for you here,” he said with a small smile that made Summer think that his thoughts were much dirtier than hers.
Abram pulled her out of the room and shut the door, very loudly and very deliberately.
“You okay?” Summer asked. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me today.”
He clenched his jaw and paced a few steps away before turning to face her again. “I killed something last night. I didn’t mean to turn my back on you, I just… I had to figure some stuff out. You still need to be careful. He wants something from you,” Abram said, gesturing at her bedroom door.
A flush of heat rolled through Summer as she thought of his fingers moving over her in the bath, and she suddenly couldn’t meet her brother’s eyes. “I know. But he needs me.” She held up a hand before her brother could explode. “He’s broken, and I think I’m his only chance at being fixed.”
“You can’t fix anyone who doesn’t want to fix himself first, Summer.”
“Thanks, doctor, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious. When he looks at you…he’s intense. And he’s an ancient being from an old world with powers we can’t imagine. The fact that he’s interested in you at all is worrying.”
She grinned. “Nonsense. He’s no match for me.”
“That, I believe,” he said. “Watch yourself. I’ll be watching you, too.”
“Thanks,” Summer said.
She planted a kiss on Abram’s cheek and went back inside.
Summer found Nash exploring her bedroom. Her TV was turned to a news channel, but muted. Nash stood in front of the doors with his hands folded behind his back and a pensive look.
“Sit down,” Summer said, kicking the door shut behind her.
He sat on her mattress as she indicated. She grabbed breakfast, sat next to him, and cut a piece of steak.
“I don’t eat,” Nash said, leaning away when she offered it to him.
“You don’t eat, or you can’t?” she asked, waving the fork in front of his mouth teasingly.
“Of course I can eat, you foolish woman, my digestive system is perfectly—”
While his mouth was open, she popped the fork into his mouth. A moment of anger clouded his eyes. Then he chewed once, and the anger quickly faded.
She grinned as he considered the food she had deposited on his tongue. “What do you think of it?”
“What in the seven Hells was that?” Nash asked.
“It’s called pan-seared steak,” Summer said. “A very nice cut cooked in butter, extremely tender, and just the right amount of fat.”
“You fed me animal flesh.”
“What, you’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“I’m not an individual that eats food at all, strictly speaking. My body feeds on things that transcend mere food.” His eyes dropped to the plate. His lips twitched. “But perhaps I’ll try a second bite.”
Summer carved another small piece of steak and moved it toward his mouth. When he reached for the fork, she jerked it out of reach with a laugh. “Let me feed you!”
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“You took care of me when the balam sliced me up, so it only seems fair,” she said. “Even if you don’t need food to recover, let’s pretend that you do. I have to repay you for everything you’ve done for me somehow.”
“You’re a strange woman,” he said, but he obediently took the bite. Summer couldn’t help but watch very closely as his lips closed around the fork.
“So what do you eat? I mean, if you don’t need food…”
“Human brains,” Nash said once he swallowed.
She nearly choked. “What?”
“Ah, the look on your face. You’d believe anything I said, wouldn’t you?”
Summer ripped a pillow off the head of her bed and smacked him with it. The pillow bounced off of the back of his head. He didn’t look disturbed by her attempt at an attack, but his hair did stick up in the back, leaving him satisfyingly ruffled. And he was smiling, too—even better.
“I’m keeping the rest of this to myself,” Summer said, turning her back on him with the plate on her lap.
“I tease, but ‘brains’ is not far from the truth. Angels feast on human thought. The brilliance of inspiration. Scientists, artists, compassion and genius—this is the energy that sustains an angel. Simply being nearby is enough to keep our bodies functioning and whole.”
“So that’s why you started some big tech company and invest in universities,” Summer said. “You’re eating brains.”
“In a manner of speaking. I also treasure thes
e values on a personal level. Were I human, I’m sure I would have made the same financial decisions I have now.” He leaned against her back and murmured into her ear. “Of course, if I were human, I would also not be so rich.”
She moved to take a bite, but his arm snaked around and plucked the fork from her grip.
“Hey!” she protested.
Nash smirked as he ate the steak. “Delicious.”
She successfully resisted the urge to smack him with the pillow again. “So how long have you been here, then?” Summer asked. “Margaret said that her grandmother was your maid.”
“Margaret talks too much,” Nash said.
“I think she loves you.”
Doubt flickered through his eyes. His fist closed around the fork. “She’s been loyal. Her family is invaluable.”
“So they’re just an asset to you? No way. I don’t think that’s true.”
He didn’t seem to like this line of conversation. He took the plate from her lap. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here, though I can tell you it has been a very long time.”
“Well, what year was it when you moved into that house?”
Now he looked annoyed. “I told you, I don’t know. Angels don’t mark time in the way that humans do. To me, last week is no different than the week that the sun formed from the dust in the void.” Nash set the tray aside and moved to her window. His hip leaned against the TV stand, and the news continued to play out silently behind him. “Some have said that angels possess the innocence and heartlessness of childhood for eternity. I’m not so optimistic. I believe that we’re soulless, more elemental than alive.”
“I don’t think you’re soulless,” Summer said, tracing the ridge of his knuckles with her fingertip. His fist was pressed to the wall beside the window, and his skin was smooth and perfect, so much paler than hers.
He opened his fist and laced his fingers with hers. “It feels as though I have slept for so many years, and only dreamed my suffering. Now that you are here…” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. “I’m awake for the first time since the war.”
Sir Lumpy slinked out from the shadows under the bed and attempted to jump onto the windowsill. It was too far for his aging girth to climb. His paws scrabbled uselessly against the wall.