77
I felt the blood drain from my face. A wave of unease settled in my chest as I wondered just how many people in this room knew what I truly was and more importantly, how many of them were willing to tolerate it. Romeo had probably figured out by now that I wasn’t human. Yet even if he loathed me for it, he had still aligned himself with Gosto, most likely to protect his own skin. Others, like Alpha Oreste, might not be so lenient.
Gosto’s hand closed around mine, warm and firm. He gave me a soft squeeze, followed by a faint smile.
“Remember what I told you,” he murmured. “You’re safe here.”
I returned the smile, but it didn’t slow the frantic thudding of my heart. My gaze swept the room and met a flood of silent questions suspicion, uncertainty, distrust. Would any of them truly fight beside Gosto if it meant fighting alongside a Nephilim?
Alpha Oreste met my eyes, smirking with the smugness of a man who thought he’d caught a secret.
“I knew you weren’t human,” he said, lounging back into his seat. “So, mind telling us all what exactly you are?”
Leandro tensed beside me, shoulders tight, muscles flexed like he was already halfway into a fight. I caught his eye and gave him a small shake of my head. The last thing we needed was blood spilled over words.
I stood, heart pounding. “I’m a Nephilim,” I said clearly. “A descendant of the Archangel Barachiel.”
The room erupted in startled gasps and low murmurs.
Alpha Oreste arched a brow and let out a crude chuckle. “Well, damn... for an abomination, you look like sin.”
Gosto’s growl was low and lethal. Oreste immediately lifted his hands in mock surrender. Leandro’s claws extended, his eyes wild with fury.
I was tired tired of being defended, tired of being silenced, tired of being someone people protected but never heard. I had my own voice, and it was time I used it.
“I know some of you are superstitious,” I said, raising my chin. “You think angel-blooded beings are monsters, which is ironic coming from descendants of the Fallen.”
Some glared. Others frowned. I didn’t care.
“I won’t lie I carry power. A great deal of it. And no, I haven’t mastered it yet. But my power doesn’t control me. I choose how and when to use it. And in case you’re wondering, I’m not some unhinged killer.”
I sat again. Gosto pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my forehead, his presence grounding me.
Romeo cleared his throat. “I... I saw what you did in the auditorium,” he began. His voice trembled with restrained emotion. His fists clenched and unclenched as he wrestled with something deep. “Many on the Night Council lived because of you. I lived because of you.” He paused, exhaling tightly.
“We were taught that Nephilims shouldn’t exist. The Fallen were condemned, and any angel who came here broke sacred laws. I’m not defending the executions, but those laws were made to protect”
“Laws?” I barked a bitter laugh. “You made laws to protect vampires and vampires alone. Maybe shifters too. But when you thought I was human, you wanted me dead simply because compulsion didn’t work on me. Let’s not pretend this is about balance. If we weren’t on the brink of war, half of you would still be trying to kill me!”
The room fell into an uneasy silence. Fosoc stifled a laugh behind his hand while Diamante and Ermes flashed me discreet thumbs-ups. Others dropped their gazes, unwilling to meet mine.
Then I met Lazaro’s eyes. He stood slowly and cleared his throat.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, offering a shallow bow. “For what my family tried to do to you. I never shared their beliefs... Mostly because my father called me an abomination too.”
I blinked. “Why?”
A flicker of humor touched his lips. “My twin shifted into his wolf when he was six. I didn’t. I was ‘wolfless.’ When my psychic gift first surfaced, my father nearly banished me. Things changed when I turned fifteen and finally found my wolf. They called me a late bloomer and conveniently ignored the years of torment I’d endured. I pretended to move on. But I didn’t.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Ironically, this looming war gave me the perfect excuse to leave my pack behind unnoticed.”
Gosto nodded approvingly. “And Lazaro will be a great asset to our cause.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “So you’re not out for revenge because I killed your brother?”
Lazaro laughed, sharp and unapologetic. “Ivano and I shared blood, but he was no brother to me. He was cruel, just like our father. You did him a favor let him die with more honor than he ever deserved.”
I stared at him, stunned by his candor. Then I nodded, my chest a little lighter. But something still tugged at my thoughts. “You called me Gosto’s weapon. Why?”
His smile turned wry. “It was an assumption. When I touched Aronne’s hand, I heard Beliale’s voice in his mind. He spoke of ‘the Nephilim’ like you were a threat. He was afraid afraid of you.”
My stomach dropped. “You think I could defeat Aronne and Beliale?”
Lazaro scratched the back of his neck. “Something about you clearly terrifies the demon. Whether it’s your blood, your abilities, or something else entirely I can’t say.”
I turned toward Gosto, noting the clenched tension in his jaw. His pain was palpable. I reached for his hand and squeezed gently, offering silent reassurance.
Then I looked back to Lazaro. “Is there a way to separate the demon from Aronne?”
“There is,” he said. “But it’s the worst possible outcome.”
My brows knit. “Why?”
Before Lazaro could answer, Gosto’s voice cut in, grim and heavy.
“Because Beliale will only leave Aronne’s body if he can create a new one. And if that happens... the apocalypse begins.”
A cold weight settled in my chest. “So to destroy Beliale, we’d have to kill your brother.”
Gosto gave a slow nod, exhaling deeply. “He tried to rewrite his destiny. But he’s been living on borrowed time. Whatever’s inside him now it’s not my brother.”
Alpha Oreste leaned forward, clearing his throat. “So, what’s the plan?”
Fosoc let out a dry chuckle. “Does this mean Silver Blade is officially on our side?”
Oreste’s smirk returned, his gaze flicking to me. “I’m not thrilled about the world ending. But if I have to die, I’d prefer it be while staring at an angelic beauty.”
Gosto’s eyes gleamed red. Oreste lifted his hands again. “No offense. I hope looking isn’t a crime.”
Gosto’s smile was cold and dangerous. “Careful, Alpha. I’m possessive by nature. Stare too long, and I might dig out your eyes.”
Oreste grinned, unfazed. “Already threatening your allies?”
“We ally in battle,” Gosto replied flatly. “Staring at my fiancée was never part of the agreement.”
The tension between them cracked in the air, palpable and suffocating. As much as I appreciated Gosto’s jealousy, now was not the time.
“Can we return to the matter at hand?” I said, glancing from one to the other.
Fosoc stood, mercifully redirecting us. “Aronne is currently stationed in Fang White territory, supported by four other packs. Together, they form a force of over six hundred shifters.”
“Then we’re not outmatched,” Oreste cut in. “Your army’s formidable, and with my hundred elite warriors, we’ll crush them quickly.”
Fosoc shot him a glare. “If I may finish,” he said through gritted teeth.
“There’s another faction the masked ones. More dangerous than even Alighiero’s forces.”
“Who are they?” asked a vampire seated beside Ermes and Diamante.
“A mix shifters, vampires, maybe warlocks. But they’ve all consumed Aronne’s blood and Beliale’s. It makes them stronger. Unnaturally so.”
“How many?” Romeo asked, clearly anxious.
Fosoc shrugged. “Their numbers shift. All it takes is one drop of Aronne’s blood... and a new soldier rises.”
“Holy hell,” Oreste muttered, then looked at Gosto. “I’ll gather my men and return tomorrow. But let’s hope your Nephilim becomes the weapon we need.” He turned to me, his gaze softer. “Let’s hope you figure out how to kill that demon... because right now, you might be the only one who can stop the end of the world.”