The Rephaim: Burn Part 2

Where do we fit into the universe? We exist in this world but we're tied to other, unseen worlds. We are Rephaim, children of the forsaken. What future exists for us if we find the Fallen? What future exists for us if we don't?

G.o.d, my brain hurts.

Maybe I should've gone to San Francisco. Not with the others, but maybe to that funky wine bar a block from Union Square that Ez and I found last- My stomach drops as if the ground's been ripped away beneath me. Demons. I spring to my feet, sword in hand. Here. Right now.

My insides twist again. They're near. I close my eyes, feel sand grit between my palm and the sword hilt. Adrenaline thuds through me. I strain to hear something-anything-but the night is silent. I scan the beach. The resort glows beyond the dunes, the only light for miles. That's where they'll be.

I sprint up the beach, too wired to shift. I hope it's Bel. I hate that smug p.r.i.c.k.

I slow as I near the bar. It's dark when I creep past, chairs and crates stacked against the back wall. A few couples linger in the lagoon pool, faces lit blue from the lights under the surface. Splashing, laughing. Oblivious that creatures from h.e.l.l are a stone's throw away.

I press my blade flat against my leg and skirt around the front of the resort. Stick to the shadows. Catch a flash of white through the palm trees further along the beach; a few more metres and I get a clear view. Bonus: Bel and Leon. I exhale and slip my katana from its saya.

Leon is on one knee, his palm pressed to the sand, doing whatever it is pit sc.u.m do to track the Fallen. Bel is beside him, hands on hips, staring out at the ocean. Long white hair trailing in the breeze. His trench coat flutters around his knees. I force myself to wait, make sure it's only the two of them. Ten seconds pa.s.s. Twenty. I don't want to miss this chance, but I make myself give it another five seconds. Then I shift while they still have their backs to me. I draw back my blade in the vortex and swing down where Leon's exposed neck should be- And jolt to a stop, so shockingly that I bite the inside of my cheek. Too late, I realise the demon straightened in the split second I was shifting and I've buried the steel in his shoulder. Leon shrieks. I duck, feel the fizz of Bel's blade nick the top of my scalp. I jerk my sword free, kick out at Leon-still hunched in agony-and spin in time to block Bel's next strike. I taste blood.

'Gabriella.' Bel's irises flare bright orange. His broadsword slides down until it locks with my katana hilt, his breath hot in my face. He looms over me, weight bearing down, all the advantage his. With my free hand, I crack the wooden saya against his knee. He buckles for just a second but it's enough for me to get out from under his blade.

Leon is standing now, sword drawn in his left hand. His right arm hangs at his side, as useless as his injured shoulder. 'b.i.t.c.h,' he spits.

I spin the katana in one hand, the saya in the other. Hold them out at my sides, open, challenging. The sand under my feet is hard-packed. Firm enough ground.

Bel grins. 'Are you bored, Gabriella?'

'A little.' I focus somewhere between the two of them. Any second now...

Leon shifts first. On instinct I spring to the right, see Bel disappear from the corner of my eye the same time Leon's heavy blade comes at my face. He's slow. Sloppier than usual. I have time to knock it away and spin, ready for Bel. I bring the katana and saya up together, blocking the blow centimetres from my throat. I push back, find the rhythm: swing, duck, block, kick. Block, kick, spin, strike. There's nothing but this moment. Attack. Defend. Keep my feet. Blood roars in my ears. I'm all fire and spark. If I can just get the right opening, I can end Leon. All I need is- The night explodes into shards of white. I stumble sideways. My head is all wrong, like it's bigger, heavier. The ground hurtles up at me and hits, hard. I groan, try to move. Can't. There's sand in my ear, in my mouth. I can't spit it out. I can't breathe. Darkness presses in, suffocating. Where did my legs go? Am I holding my sword? Boots stroll towards me. There's an extra pair. Three demons. f.u.c.k.

I reach for the void, but I can't get to it. My heart thrashes.

The boots keep coming, blurry now. Is someone standing on my skull? Is it still attached to the rest of me? I can't feel anything except- Sharp pain cuts through the throbbing. A blade against my throat, sinking slowly into my jugular.

A sick, strangled noise escapes me. A wave breaks on the beach, muted. A smoky laugh wraps around me. It could be above me, it could be in my head. The blade twists, deeper. Are they going to take my head slowly or just see how much I can bleed without dying?

Ohs.h.i.tohs.h.i.tohs.h.i.t...

And then it's gone. The blade, the pain-nothing. There's a surprised shout, the sounds of steel on steel. Grunting.

'Stay conscious!'

It takes a moment for the voice to sink through the fog. Rafa.

I open my eyes, but everything is smeared. The night, the ocean, the demons. A second later I feel it, warm fingers clamped over my bleeding throat. 'Let go.'

I let Rafa drag me into the vortex-I doubt I could've resisted even if I'd wanted to. It's over in a split second. Too quick. I can still hear surf, smell the island flowers. Rafa catches me before I slump to the sand and hoists me into his arms.

'Whaaa...' I can't finish the question. My mouth isn't working right.

'Hang on.' Rafa holds me against his chest. He pushes hair back from my face, keeps his other hand pressed over the wound in my throat. I can feel the blood pumping out of me. 'f.u.c.k, Gabe...'

I make another incoherent noise and his grip tightens. He lowers his head and whispers something into my hair. I almost catch it but then another wave of blackness washes over me. This time I let it take me.

THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH.

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the water-stained ceiling of the infirmary. The second is Daniel. He's sitting forward in the chair beside me, eyes like cobalt.

'What were you thinking?'

He's quiet, controlled.

'That I could take them.' It comes out croaky, but at least I can form words again.

'Three Gatekeepers and only two of you?'

I falter. He thinks Rafa was with me from the start. No wonder he's relatively calm. Daniel would be apoplectic if he thought I'd taken on Bel and Leon on my own. I lift my hand-it works!-and find my head wrapped in a bandage. I touch my neck. More dressings.

'Did they attack first?' he asks.

I fiddle with the bandage on my neck, avoid eye contact.

'Gabe...' A tiny sigh. 'I expect that sort of recklessness from Rafa, but not you and not now.'

'You've been out of the field for too long, Daniel. You forget how hard it is to cross paths with Gatekeepers and turn the other cheek.'

'It's our mandate-'

'To defend ourselves, not attack. Yeah, I know.' I lift my weight onto my elbows and wait for the brain-crushing pain.

It doesn't come. There's only a dull throb at the base of my skull. The sword hilt struck with enough force to crack bone. Rafa must have shifted with me more than once on the way back. I look around for Brother Ferro, find him restocking his supply cabinet. I breathe in familiar smells of antiseptic and disinfectant.

'How long was I out?' I ask him.

The monk pauses, a box of syringes in his hand. I notice how grey his cropped hair looks under the fluorescents and try to remember how old he is. I'm sure he's barely fifty.

'You had a bad concussion so I gave you a sedative,' he says. 'You've been sleeping for about an hour.'

'How's Rafa?'

'Exhausted from healing you; otherwise uninjured.'

I prod at the dressing, feel the lump beneath it. What made Rafa go back to the island? What would have happened if he hadn't? For a second I'm on the beach, sand in my mouth, bleeding, helpless as Bel pushes his sword into my neck. I shudder.

'Do you want to shift again?' Daniel asks.

'With you?' I don't hide my surprise. Daniel's one of the Five. He hasn't made that offer in years-that's what the rest of us are for.

He watches me closely. 'Yes.'

I'm well aware he's offering more than healing: this is the start of something else, officially. Something we've been dancing around for weeks now. Jude would be rolling his eyes behind Daniel's back if he was here right now. Actually, where is Jude? Maybe he doesn't know about Bel and Leon. But that would mean Rafa didn't go back to San Francisco- 'I take it that's a no.'

Oh. I give him a quick smile. 'I'm fine, really.' I haven't worked out how I feel about Daniel's interest in me, and I'm not quite ready to explore it.

He nods, moves back. 'Is your brother thinking more rationally?'

I push aside the sheet and sit up. I'm still in cargoes and a t-shirt, the front caked with my blood and Leon's. 'Mya's the one you should be worried about.'

'Jude is responsible for his own actions.'

'Can you honestly sit there and tell me he's being unreasonable?'

Something crosses Daniel's face: he's disappointed with me. 'I think it's unreasonable to question Nathaniel. I think it's unreasonable to accuse him of fabricating our destiny.'

I bristle. 'But that's not what Jude said.'

'Your brother wants proof of our commission to hunt and find the Fallen. That's no different than calling Nathaniel a liar.'

But Nathaniel is a liar.

I don't say it out loud. Instead I say: 'You need to let this play out.'

'To what end?'

'I don't know. But it needs to happen.'

He studies me for a moment. 'And where do you stand in all this?'

'You really need to ask?'

Daniel exhales. 'With your brother, of course.' He rises. He rests his fingertips on the bed, close to my thigh but not touching. 'I truly hope Jude is as smart as you think he is. Your loyalty is admirable, but it should never be blind.'

I watch him walk out of the infirmary, his designer shoes quiet on the cracked lino. Daniel's a strategic thinker. A deep thinker. He must have questions about our existence, but he's never said so. And he won't start now, not with Jude driving the push for answers.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Brother Ferro shuts the supply cabinet and comes over. 'May I?' He gestures to my head. I nod and he unwraps the bandage. 'I would have preferred to st.i.tch this, but the healing was too progressed by the time Rafa brought you here.'

I reach up and touch hair stiff with dried blood.

'Yes, Gabriella, it is all there.'

I let out a relieved laugh. Not that I haven't had patches of my head shaved for st.i.tches before, but I'm happy to avoid it.

'Something else I need to thank Rafa for.' I drag my fingers through a tangled clump and retie my ponytail. 'Did he say which bar he was. .h.i.tting for a drink?'

'I know you believe Rafa's stamina is limitless, but I don't think he was going anywhere but his room when he left here.'

I wait until Brother Ferro returns to sorting instruments before I reach for my phone. And even then I hesitate. Not sure why. Embarra.s.sment? I should never have put myself in that situation on the beach. If anyone else had done what I did tonight, I'd kick their a.r.s.e. But I'm going to hear about it from Rafa sooner or later, so I may as well get it over with. I tap out a text.

Where are you?

He responds a few seconds later. My room.

You decent?

Rarely.

Put some pants on. I'm coming up.

I wait a couple of minutes and then shift to the hallway outside his room, knock twice.

'It's unlocked.'

I walk in, find him standing in the bathroom doorway, towel wrapped low around his hips. His hair is still wet and steam wafts around him.

'Pants?' I shut the door behind me.

'Next on my list.'

'Brother Ferro said you were a wreck. You don't look so bad. Who'd you shift with?'

His eyes drift to my blood-caked hair. 'How about you tell me how you ended up facedown in the sand with three Gatekeepers arguing over who was going to decapitate you?'

An icy finger brushes the nape of my neck. I shrug it off. 'When I felt them arrive I thought I could take care of it myself.'

'Three of them? You might need to check that ego, Gabe.'

'There were only two when I attacked.'

'It didn't cross your mind they weren't alone? Seriously, what the f.u.c.k were you thinking?'

I don't know what to tell him. I let my eyes wander around the room to buy myself time. The walls are crowded with katanas, poleaxes, sais, broadswords, all neat and ordered in racks, but everything else is a mess. His bed is a tangle of sheets, motorcycle magazines and tattered manga paperbacks. Boots and running shoes scattered on the floor, the desk buried under a pile of dirty clothes and crumpled towels. There's a box of empty beer bottles by the door and I catch a faint whiff of bourbon.

'Why didn't you call?' He's not angry; he's genuinely curious.

I reach for his favourite katana, sheathed in an antique hand-carved saya, run my fingertip over the leather-bound hilt. I can't look at him. 'I needed a distraction.'

'From what? This c.r.a.p between Jude and Nathaniel? f.u.c.k, Gabe, it's not that big of a deal.'

'It is.' I take a deep breath. 'Jude's prepared to walk out the door over it.'

A beat. 'No he's not.'

'He is, Rafa. Doesn't it bother you that everything's on the brink of turning to s.h.i.t here?'

'Apparently not as much as it does you.' He watches me for a second and then crosses the carpet, stepping over shoes without looking. He stops less than an arm's length away and a hint of sandalwood reaches me. I wait for him to tell me how it doesn't matter if the Sanctuary tears itself apart, wave it away like he does everything else. But he just stands there watching me, searching for...something.

Finally he rubs the back of his neck. 'A few seconds more and they had you.' His voice is rough. It brings a strange sensation to my chest. I'm aware of how close he is. Of the water dripping from his hair to his shoulder, running down his collarbone. The contours of his arms and his chest, the trail of hair low on his stomach. I've seen Rafa shirtless a thousand times, wrestled with him half-naked on the training mats just as often. I've always known how fit he is, but I've never been distracted by his bare flesh before. It must be the towel. We watch each other for a few more seconds.

'What made you come back?'

He shrugs with one shoulder. 'The European history majors weren't doing it for me tonight.'