Nephilim War: Book 2 Read online

  “Figlio likes his privacy. Are you cold?”

  He turned to face her. The chill winds coming off the ocean whipped his long hair around his face. And he looked magnificent standing before the crashing waves in his tight suede pants and leather jacket. His chest looked like it was made of marble. He seemed so solid.

  “I could start a fire. Are you hungry? Remember, we got food for you,” he continued.

  She couldn’t remember her last meal, but knew it had to have been some time ago. Even so, she wasn’t hungry. Under the circumstances, food wasn’t the uppermost thought in her mind.

  “What kind of food would an immortal have in his kitchen?”

  “Figlio? Oh, werewolves eat regular food. You’d be surprised.”

  Alaric turned to the portico and headed toward the door. For a moment, she thought he was about to leave her outside, but of course, he didn’t. To the left of the door was a pile of logs. He grabbed an armful and started toward her.

  “You are cold,” he said when he reached her. He crouched low and set the logs into a circle in the sand. “You’re shivering.” He paused long enough to look up at her. “But I don’t think you’re ready to go inside with me yet, so we’ll just sit here and talk for a while. Does that sound good to you?”

  She nodded. “Can you read my mind?”

  He grinned. “I wish. I won’t say I haven’t tried…”

  “How incredibly rude!”

  “Are you saying you haven’t tried to read mine? Before you answer, note that I’ve felt you prodding around, trying to get in. You have a lot of secrets don’t you? First, I find out the hard way that you’re immortal, then, I find out you’re a mind reader. What else are you hiding?”

  She stared down at her feet and smiled. “Well, then, we’re even.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  After Alaric had the fire going, she moved close to it and settled herself in the sand. Alaric sat beside her, though he was careful not to sit too close. He was working at pulling off his boots and socks, and this small thing amazed her. Somehow, she’d never pictured that a vampire wore socks. She knew he didn’t wear underpants. What else didn’t he wear?

  When he got his socks off, he tossed them aside and leaned back on his elbows. He seemed caught in his thoughts. He gazed ahead at the fire, a blank expression on his face. The only movement he made was the slight wiggling of his toes in the sand. It was odd to look at him, to see him performing so common an action and know he wasn’t human. He was a vampire. A vampire who wiggled his toes in the sand.

  “Tell me about Figlio,” she finally said. “How did you meet?”

  He rotated his body so he could face her. Yet again, she was struck by his looks. Would she never get over how handsome he was? There was a part of her that wished he’d forgo any consideration of what she wanted and simply do to her whatever he chose. Take the responsibility of making a decision out of her hands and do what they both wanted him to do. They were alone here at this house. For miles around, they were the only two beings—not including Damon, of course. If she let him feed on her, nobody else would ever have to know. It could be their secret. But even as she thought that, she heard Father Caleb’s voice in her head chastising her for giving in to her carnal nature.

  “He took me in during those rough years after Smenkhare…after she was gone,” Alaric was saying.

  “It still pains you to talk of her.”

  He turned away. The shadow of the dancing flames moved across the profile of his face.

  “Talking to you is like talking to Smenkhare.” He held up a hand. “I know. You’re Al-Kenna, not Smenkhare. I don’t mind telling you how Figlio and I became acquainted, though. It’s a short story.” He sat up and began digging seashells from the sand and tossing them into the flame. “I never talk about this, you know. Not to anyone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He let a moment pass before he began. “After Smenkhare was gone, I wanted to die. There seemed to be no reason for me left to live if I had to live without her. Never did my immortality weigh so heavily on me as it did during those years. I left my clan and roamed the forests of Germany alone. Eventually, I made my way through Gaul and into Rome, then across the see to Crete. Everywhere I went, I sought death. I picked fights with other immortals, hoping, praying to the gods I never really believed in that one of the immortals would put me out of my misery.” He shrugged. “But I was a warrior; my whole life had been war. To a Visigoth, there is no greater aspiration than to fight. Our whole society was built around war. The chief of Visigoth tribes was always the fiercest warrior. A Visigoth afraid of battle was a Visigoth who would be relegated to performing domestic duties with the women and weaklings of the clan. So, I’d been fighting all my mortal and immortal life. There was no immortal that could best me.” He sighed and continued to gaze ahead at the fire. “I left a trail of vampire and beastmen corpses behind me that would have made any Ikari proud, even your father. And my anger and frustration at remaining alive throughout grew with every immortal I destroyed.”

  “Did you try to kill Figlio, too?” she asked.

  “No, not yet. When my travels brought me to Greece, I heard talk of him. He was legendary, even then. In all the posh locales the Greek immortals frequented, Figlio was always an object of conversation. Figlio the werewolf, Figlio the true immortal, Figlio of the first brood. His name was on the lips of every Greek immortal I came across. After a while, all the lore became tiresome. I had one hell of an ego—still do, in fact—and I’d just left a path of dead in my wake. You’d think someone would have been slightly impressed.”

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. Just that small look made her body tingle with the need to have him touch her. To feel his fingers on her as he kissed her.

  “He had a home near the sea, and it was rumored no immortal had ever crossed the threshold to his house and lived to tell. As you can imagine, my interest was immediately piqued.”

  “So what’d you do?”

  “I found out where this so-called mansion was and went to it. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  When he settled back on his elbows and gazed into the sky, she realized that was all he was going to say.

  Al-Kenna frowned. “That’s it? That’s your story? No offense, Alaric, but you’re the worst storyteller I’ve ever come across.”

  “I like the way my name sounds on your lips. Say it again.”

  “Tell me what happened after you found his house. I want to know.”

  “Oh, very well. I walked up the hill to his property, hopped the fence enclosing his home, and went to his door. Then, I banged on it and demanded he come out and face me.”

  “You really did have a death wish, didn’t you?”

  He smiled. “I don’t do things by half. I was sure that in Figlio, I’d finally meet my match. See what I mean about my arrogance? Figlio was of the first brood, and I thought he would be a match for me. It was unthinkable I’d be childlike and weak to him. That thought never entered my mind. In any case, I was destined for disappointment. He didn’t answer me.”

  “Was he inside, or away like he is now?”

  “He wasn’t home. I stayed on his doorstep, banging until one of his servants came to the door. It was a human, of course, a robust male in his late teens, which of course made him a man in that time. He told me Figlio wasn’t home, but I could leave a message with him. Which I was glad to do. After the servant was dead—”

  “Dead! You killed him? You killed a man? An innocent man? But why?”

  “Baby doll, that’s what I do. I’m a vampire, remember? I have fangs, claws, and dark intentions.”

  “But you don’t seem like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A murderer. That’s what you did to that guy you know, you murdered him. That’s forbidden.”

  “Maybe among your people, but among my people it’s called eating. Least it was before the Alliance was formed.”

&nb
sp; She shook her head. “When a lion kills a zebra to feed herself and her young, that’s eating. What you did is murder. Do you still go around murdering people?”

  “So, it’s not murder if I kill an immortal, but it’s murder if I kill a human?”

  “Answer me, please.”

  “What if I did? What would that mean to you?”

  “I’d have to kill you.”

  He stared at her for a beat, then fell backward in the sand and laughed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he finally managed.

  “I don’t think it’s funny. I could kill you if I had to. I’m very strong.”

  Still laughing, he rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. “I don’t doubt you are, since you’re Ikari. But I’ve also no doubt that I’m stronger.”

  “Why, because I’m a woman?”

  “No, because I’m a Visigoth…and a man.” He gave her a winning smile.

  She realized he was purposely baiting her, but she couldn’t help but be annoyed. She was so tired of having her abilities discounted simply because she was a female.

  “Don’t believe me?” she asked. “How about an armwrestle? Bet I could beat you.”

  “Armwrestle a girl?” He sat up and darted looks at every corner of the beach. “If anyone ever found out, I’d never live it down. All of my centuries of cruelty would pale in comparison. Alaric the Cruel, armwrestling a girl? I’d be the laughing stock of immortals everywhere.”

  She snorted. “You were telling me if you’ve murdered anyone recently?”

  He grinned. “Not for a few centuries. You can thank Figlio for that.”

  “What happened after he found out you killed his servant?”

  “He came after me. Just as I wanted him to. I returned to the crypt where I slept during the day, but when I woke, I was in unfamiliar surroundings. I was in a room unlike anything I’d ever seen. Thick beddings made of the finest silk, marble floors, exquisitely made wall hangings. It was an absolute paradise to my eyes. And Figlio was there, sitting across the room, watching me.”

  “He moved you during the day?”

  “No, he waited until early evening when the sun had just set, but I was still sleeping. I was young, so I slept longer than I do now. But I woke and I was so startled by my surroundings, I leapt out of the bed and tried to run before I realized someone was in the room with me.”

  “I’ll assume since you’re here with me now that he didn’t kill you.”

  “No. Instead of killing me on the spot, he offered his home to me, this legend of a werewolf who had a town of immortals quivering at the mention of his name. I was so stunned, I didn’t respond. He took this as acquiescence.”

  “So, he wanted you to move in with him. He never said anything about you murdering his servant?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. He gave me the fight I wanted. He could have killed me more than a dozen times, but he never did. I’d never met an immortal as powerful as Figlio. He didn’t even have to touch me. All he need do was look at me and suddenly I was sent flying through the room and slamming into a wall or into the floor. He could set me ablaze as easily as you strike a match, that’s how great his power was…and still is. Don’t get me wrong, though. Physically, he was just as fierce. He bested my strength more times than I care to remember.”

  “You didn’t hate him for it?”

  “No. I think I loved him for it.” He laughed. “When he’d finally beaten all of the fight out of me, he began to show me what being immortal was. What it really was. It wasn’t power and flash and all the things I had thought it was until then. He spoke of the things he’d seen, the people he’d known, the history. He told me that was the true gift of immortality. To see and know so many things. And he taught me to respect life, human and immortal.”

  “He made you stop murdering, then.”

  “He never made me do anything. But he taught me to value life, something I’d never done. You have to remember I was a warrior. I valued my own life and that of my tribesmen. Anyone else?” He shrugged. “I guess you can say Figlio civilized me.”

  “I would have loved to see you as a barbarian.”

  He eyed her. “I doubt that. I wasn’t anything like the man you see before you now. I was dirty, I smelled bad, I was violent, and,” he paused and grinned, “barbaric.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you dirty, stinky, and violent. I read that you wore a loincloth into battle and nothing else.”

  “Does that turn you on? The idea of me riding around on a horse in nothing but a loincloth?”

  She looked away from him. Her face heated with embarrassment. “I only meant to say that what I read about you was far more flattering than…” She let the sentence trail off. Now she’d gone and told him she’d been reading about him. How stupid was that?

  “You know, I don’t have any of my old loincloths, but I have a few G-strings. We have a few hours until morning. What do you say we go upstairs and have some fun? I’ll throw on a G-string and we can pretend I’m still a barbarian and you’re…who do you want to be?”

  An image of Alaric in a G-string flittered through her mind. His tight backside would look wonderful in a G-string. Just the thought of it made her body come alive as it had in the plane.

  Before she could respond, she felt Alaric move close to her. “You fantasize about barbarians?” he whispered.

  She stared purposefully at the sand. “I don’t fantasize about anything. Fantasies are a waste of time.”

  “So, you’re telling me you have no fantasies. No fetishes.” He eased closer.

  She didn’t know whether it was the coziness of the fire or the simple force of Alaric’s personality, but she found herself thinking of the ride here, of sitting in Damon’s lap, his erection pressing into her while Alaric kissed her. What would have happened had the situation played out? Would Alaric have allowed Damon to act on his arousal, or would he have been angered by his friend’s excitement?

  When she realized she was smiling, she looked away.

  “I knew it. Tell me.”

  “No way.”

  “Tell me.”

  “What about you? What do you fantasize about? What’s your fetish?”

  “Making you my love slave. Now, what about you?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but his lips closed over hers. She started at the contact, but quickly welcomed his warmth.

  The kiss was long and deep. He seemed ravenous, so starved for her, she immediately drew her arms around him and pulled him close.

  She felt the press of his body as he lay across her. The taste of him was sweet on her lips, and she wanted more. Thought she’d never have enough of him.

  “Alaric, you taste so good. I want you.”

  He paused long enough to stare down at her. Just the touch of his eyes made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.

  “Not half as much as I want you,” he said.

  Abruptly, though, he froze. A second later, he pulled away from her and scanned the darkness around them.

  “What?” she asked, but he hushed her.

  “Get up,” he said. “And get your shoes on.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Right now. There are too many of them. Shit.”

  He shoved his feet into his discarded boots as he spoke.

  “Who?”

  He paused a second to look at her. “The rogues.”

  Feeling more than a little fuzzy from his kisses, she sat upright. “Rogues?”

  “Your shoes,” he said in a hiss. “Hurry up. They’re less than a mile away from us. What the hell are they doing here? And to come after me.”

  More than his words, the sound of his voice got her moving. She couldn’t say he sounded scared, but he was probably as close to scared as he ever came. She slipped her feet into the shoes.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He had his shoes on and was on the portico before Al-Kenna even finished with her laces. Pausing in the doorway to wait
for her, he glared.

  She couldn’t help it, her shoes had a hundred holes to loop the laces through and she hadn’t even done half of them.

  “Now!” he said.

  She rose to her feet and scurried to the door. Walking wasn’t easy, though, not with the stupid shoes only half tied. When she got to the door, he scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed no more than ten pounds and started into the house at a jog.

  “I can walk,” she argued.

  He ignored her. He ran to the living room, grabbed her bag and yelled for Damon.

  He bounded through the house and out the front door. A moment later, Damon appeared, eyes wide with concern. Alaric said nothing. After he tossed her duffle to Damon, Alaric locked the door, then set off in the direction of the car at a full run. This terrified her on many different levels. For one, she wasn’t accustomed to being carried. If he fell, it would hurt. His footing was sure, though, and he never faltered once. As he ran, she could see the sleek Jag parked in the driveway a few dozen feet away.

  “Shit!” she heard him say in a hiss.

  “Who are we running from?” Damon demanded.

  “The rogues. They’re here. Son of a bitch.”

  In the distance, Al-Kenna saw three black SUV’s pull onto the street. Two used the road in the manner it was intended; the third, however, simply drove over the sidewalk.

  Al-Kenna, Damon, and Alaric reached the car and Alaric settled her on the ground in front of the driver’s door even as he pulled his car keys free of his coat pocket.

  “Get in,” he said when he’d unlocked the door. “You too, Damon, your door’s already unlocked.”

  “Why are we running?” she wanted to know. “If someone is after you, we should stand our ground.”

  “No, sweetheart, we can’t. There are close to fifteen immortals in those trucks. Three of them are old. Nearly as old as me.”

  At his insistent prods, she bent and climbed in and over the driver’s seat. She’d barely shifted into the passenger seat where Damon had already settled himself when Alaric pushed into the car behind her and slammed his door. He shoved the key in the ignition and started the car. Instantly, Godsmack came blaring from the speakers. Apparently, nobody had thought to turn off the CD player when they got here.