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Authors: Lori Handeland
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from my neck.
“You need to go after them,” I said. “I’ll”—I lifted my cuffed hands—“call a locksmith.”
Luther grabbed his knife and began to pick the locks. I pulled away. “Luther! Go.”
He shook his head, curls bobbing. Since he still hadn’t answered any of my questions, I asked one again. “What did Ruthie say they were?”
“She didn’t.”
Panic made my heart race. “What did they do to you?” Something that had made him unable to change into a lion, but what if—“Did they take all your powers?”
“No. Just put the kava-kava on the ropes to keep me from shifting.”
“What’s kava-kava?”
“Herb from the South Pacific. Mostly used for stress relief. With shifters, it makes the muscles too lax to change.”
How did he know this stuff when I didn’t? It was infuriating.
“If you’ve still got all your powers, why don’t you know what they were?”
“Oh, I know what they were,” Luther muttered. Click . The handcuffs fell to the floor, and Luther lifted his blazing amber eyes to mine. “They were human, Liz. Not Nephilim at all.”
CHAPTER 8
“Human?” Luther nodded, lips tight as he picked at the lock on my ankle cuffs. “You’re sure?”
“Did you feel any vibe? Because I didn’t.”
When evil’s near there’s a buzz. Nothing too flashy, just a vibration, both tactile and auditory, like a thousand bees around your head or a very large lawn mower idling right next to you. But I hadn’t felt it and neither had Luther.
My ankle cuffs fell to the carpet with a muted clank. “Not bad,” I said. The kid obviously had experience.
I rushed to the door, glanced outside. The power was still out, but the sliver of a moon reflected off the concrete lot, as well as the hoods of all the cars—just enough to reveal that no one was there.
“You’re bleeding, Liz.” Luther stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. His eyes shone dark topaz, and his nostrils flared as he scented the night. He shook his head. He didn’t think anyone was there, either.
“So are you.” His nose was crooked. I was going to have to fix that. It was going to hurt.
“I’ve got a flashlight.” He turned away from the door, which I shut and locked. However they’d gotten in, it hadn’t been by breaking anything.
I was tempted to tell Luther to forget about first aid until morning. With only a flashlight, I doubted he’d be able to dig the bullet out of my shoulder anyway. Then the power went on with a thunk . The TV flashed blue flame at the center of the screen before an infomercial detailing the one hundred greatest hard-rock love songs—were there a hundred?—began.
Luther’s fist shot out and crunched the off button as he went past. I had a feeling that TV was never going to go on again.
I glanced outside once more. The parking lot was now lit like a carnival. On the road, a municipal light and power truck idled.
In the bathroom, Luther and I stood side by side in front of the mirror. Both our noses were crooked and swollen, our faces flecked with blood. If we were human we’d have black eyes tomorrow. Because we weren’t, the swelling had already stopped.
To heal even faster, we’d need to shape-shift, and I planned to once we were put back together. By morning no one would ever suspect Luther and I had passed anything other than an uneventful night.
Before I could think about it too much, I jerked my nose into place. Shards of pain pierced my brain, and I bent over, breathing through my mouth as my eyes streamed. “Damn, that smarts.” But when I straightened, my face was back the way it should be.
I’d been told often enough that I was exotically beautiful. Probably because of the contrast between my bright blue eyes and darker-than-Caucasian skin. My cheekbones were high, my nose—usually—a straight blade. I was tall and slim, with a decent-sized rack. Guys liked me even though, more often than not, I had little use for them.
I’d known since I was
“You need to go after them,” I said. “I’ll”—I lifted my cuffed hands—“call a locksmith.”
Luther grabbed his knife and began to pick the locks. I pulled away. “Luther! Go.”
He shook his head, curls bobbing. Since he still hadn’t answered any of my questions, I asked one again. “What did Ruthie say they were?”
“She didn’t.”
Panic made my heart race. “What did they do to you?” Something that had made him unable to change into a lion, but what if—“Did they take all your powers?”
“No. Just put the kava-kava on the ropes to keep me from shifting.”
“What’s kava-kava?”
“Herb from the South Pacific. Mostly used for stress relief. With shifters, it makes the muscles too lax to change.”
How did he know this stuff when I didn’t? It was infuriating.
“If you’ve still got all your powers, why don’t you know what they were?”
“Oh, I know what they were,” Luther muttered. Click . The handcuffs fell to the floor, and Luther lifted his blazing amber eyes to mine. “They were human, Liz. Not Nephilim at all.”
CHAPTER 8
“Human?” Luther nodded, lips tight as he picked at the lock on my ankle cuffs. “You’re sure?”
“Did you feel any vibe? Because I didn’t.”
When evil’s near there’s a buzz. Nothing too flashy, just a vibration, both tactile and auditory, like a thousand bees around your head or a very large lawn mower idling right next to you. But I hadn’t felt it and neither had Luther.
My ankle cuffs fell to the carpet with a muted clank. “Not bad,” I said. The kid obviously had experience.
I rushed to the door, glanced outside. The power was still out, but the sliver of a moon reflected off the concrete lot, as well as the hoods of all the cars—just enough to reveal that no one was there.
“You’re bleeding, Liz.” Luther stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. His eyes shone dark topaz, and his nostrils flared as he scented the night. He shook his head. He didn’t think anyone was there, either.
“So are you.” His nose was crooked. I was going to have to fix that. It was going to hurt.
“I’ve got a flashlight.” He turned away from the door, which I shut and locked. However they’d gotten in, it hadn’t been by breaking anything.
I was tempted to tell Luther to forget about first aid until morning. With only a flashlight, I doubted he’d be able to dig the bullet out of my shoulder anyway. Then the power went on with a thunk . The TV flashed blue flame at the center of the screen before an infomercial detailing the one hundred greatest hard-rock love songs—were there a hundred?—began.
Luther’s fist shot out and crunched the off button as he went past. I had a feeling that TV was never going to go on again.
I glanced outside once more. The parking lot was now lit like a carnival. On the road, a municipal light and power truck idled.
In the bathroom, Luther and I stood side by side in front of the mirror. Both our noses were crooked and swollen, our faces flecked with blood. If we were human we’d have black eyes tomorrow. Because we weren’t, the swelling had already stopped.
To heal even faster, we’d need to shape-shift, and I planned to once we were put back together. By morning no one would ever suspect Luther and I had passed anything other than an uneventful night.
Before I could think about it too much, I jerked my nose into place. Shards of pain pierced my brain, and I bent over, breathing through my mouth as my eyes streamed. “Damn, that smarts.” But when I straightened, my face was back the way it should be.
I’d been told often enough that I was exotically beautiful. Probably because of the contrast between my bright blue eyes and darker-than-Caucasian skin. My cheekbones were high, my nose—usually—a straight blade. I was tall and slim, with a decent-sized rack. Guys liked me even though, more often than not, I had little use for them.
I’d known since I was
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