CHAPTER 30
So Atlas was a Nephilim...or was it just Nephilim, no "a"? Either way you said it, I didn't know what it was. Seeing my perplexed expression, Larson pulled me over to the farthest corner of the room. Even while attempting to enlighten me, he never took his eyes off Atlas, who remained bound by silver chains in the prison-like chair.
"Nephilim are the offspring of, let's say, when someone like Roland gets with someone like you..."
"What? A badass?" I mused. Larson didn't find my humor at a time like this funny.
"A human," he finally said. I shuddered at the thought. What girl in her right mind would sleep with a homicidal demon-creep like Roland?
Larson lowered his voice to a mere whisper, "For all we know, he has all of Roland's superhuman abilities and none of his weaknesses."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we could be in big trouble. Atlas is half human, and half demon—neither are susceptible to silver. This wouldn't be an issue if I knew for a fact that he wasn't any stronger than the average mortal. But if Atlas was fortunate enough in the gene pool, and he got Daddy Roland's otherworldly strength, those restraints won't hold."
Ah. Well, crap. Larson was good, but what if Atlas was better? He had evaded us once. And, if Larson couldn't take him down, I sure as hell didn't stand a chance.
"What do we do?"
He didn't even bother to think about any solution other than, "You should leave. Go back upstairs and stay with Nathan."
Was Larson out of his mind? He should know me by now. No way was I leaving him down here alone.
"How about this?" I suggested, "I linger as far back as possible and you stay on your guard no matter what."
His face was tight and disproving as he continued to eye Atlas, but he didn't drag me from the room by my hair, so I guess that meant something.
"You really shouldn't be here," he said. "You could get hurt."
"Yeah," I said, then stated the obvious, "so could you."
Larson wasn't quick to give up, "You should go to Kelsey. She may need your protection if things go...poorly."
That was a low blow. I hadn't known Kelsey long, but I'd grown very protective of her. Sort of like a little sister. It took a lot for me to shake off the urge to go to her. "Kelsey will be fine. She has Nathan," I said trying to convince both Larson and myself.
Larson nodded. He was finally catching on that he wouldn't be able to get rid of me. His tone was grave, "Fine. However, if things should get out of control, get the hell out of here and find Nathan."
I smiled triumphantly, "Got it."
His words came through clenched teeth, "I'm serious, Viktoriya."
"I promise," I managed to sound sincere, but I mentally added to our contract, "as long as you don't need my help". I would never leave him behind in battle. Larson wouldn't like it, but he could bitch at me later for it...if we lived.
After we had things settled, Larson returned to his guarded position diagonal from Atlas. I, however, remained in the corner.
Larson stood confidently with a look that said he was all business, but he spoke in a mocking tone, "So how do we get a hold of Daddy Dearest?"
Atlas scoffed, "You don't. He'll get a hold of you." He looked at me as he said this, and a cold chill played along my spine.
Larson spoke with dry humor, "Ah, yes. And a fine job Roland has done, thus far. He has his slimy mutant son spewing empty threats. Oh, I am quivering with fear."
A vein at the center of Atlas' head began to throb and his face was rapidly turning from bronze to orange to a scorching red. His voice came out in a low growl, "He has more important things to deal with at the moment. But when he does come, she'll wish Trish had finished her off."
I was impressed that Larson managed to appear aloof. "I hope he doesn't think it'll be so easy. She's had plenty of training and could go up against any vampire or possessed mortal without my assistance."
A bark of laughter left Atlas.
"You doubt me?" Larson's question was a challenge.
A Mona Lisa smile painted itself on Atlas' thin lips, "Not at all. It's just that Roland doesn't always need a vessel to work through." He sneered, clearly expecting his next words to hold some sort of shock value. Atlas' eyes narrowed in my direction. "He's a demon lord, and as such, he can manifest anytime, anywhere. He even has his own form," he admitted.
I could have died just then. Roland could find me and kill me with his bare hands. This was both good and bad news. On a positive note, I would have no reservations about killing him since his body would be his own and not an innocent human vessel. On the downside, he was a lot more powerful and much harder to kill.
Even from a distance, I could sense Larson's uneasiness. Still, he spoke with assurance, "It doesn't matter. Roland won't stand a chance against us all. I'd like to see him try."
"And. He. Will," Atlas spat. "You can count on it."
Larson's hand reached into his pockets. I knew he was going for the same blade he had used to slice up Atlas' face earlier. Larson was just about through with chatting.
"Is there anything else you'd like to share?" He asked with his hand still concealed in his pocket.
Atlas looked to Larson then to me, his eyes changing from silver to that of jet-black saucers. My heart pushed out an extra beat. It was a small physical transformation, but it was one that I associated with humans under possession.
"Wait," I breathed. I prayed this was Roland taking control of his own son's body. Maybe to give me another foreboding message. The timing couldn't be more perfect. If Roland controlled Atlas' body at the same moment that Larson drove his blade into our hostage's heart, we could kill them both in just one shot...
"One more thing," he leered, his voice taking on an eerie quality. It was deeper, more gravely—a voice I recognized. The same voice that had spoken to me through my sister's lips. Roland had officially joined our party. "Don't you want to know how your Dad is doing?"
He was lying—that's what demons did. They would do and say anything to break a person. Roland knew nothing about my father. My dad had been a good man. He was honest, and kind, and patient. His heart was pure. He'd been an amazing husband, and father.
"Nice try," I said, "but my dad was a saint."
"If you're referring to the man who raised you, then yes. I'm sure he's moved on to greener pastures."
At my confused expression, the demon cackled. It was a harsh grating sound, like nails on a chalkboard. "You did not think that unfortunate mortal was your true father, did you? Oh, you poor child."
For once, I did not have a sarcastic retort. I was speechless. My first reaction was denial. Just five minutes ago, I'd asked myself what kind of sick woman would procreate with a demon? If I accepted what Roland was telling me, then that made my mom one of those horrible, twisted women. I didn't want to believe she'd ever be unfaithful to my father. Not with another man, let alone with a soulless creature from Hell.
Another nauseating thought entered my mind. If my father really was a demon, that made me just like Atlas.
"Don't fall into his trap, love. He's lying."
The demon leaned forward, tilting its head. "Am I? Listen to your heart, girl. What does it say?"
I could appreciate the irony of a demon consulting me to "follow" my heart. Even if he had meant it literally. Still in-tune with my newfound super-senses, I realized Atlas's heart and mine were in sync. The creep factor in that, made my skin crawl.
Of course, that didn't mean Roland was telling the truth. For all I knew, he could be manipulating his host's body. I'd never given it much thought before, but it stood to reason that if a demon could affect its victim's actions, then they might be able to control their organs as well. After all, Roland was a demon lord, so I didn't put it past the realm of possibility.
Roland seemed to sense my skepticism. He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Come now. How else do you explain your ability to see and sense us, when no one else in your family ever could? We can sense you, too, you know. That is why we're drawn to you. We have always known what you are. Even if you didn't."
Roland's leisurely smirk was triumphant. He knew he'd finally gotten it through to me. Despite silently telling myself, over and over, that none of what he said was true, I knew deep down it was.
I couldn't breathe. No matter how fast I gulped in air, it wasn't enough. I began to hyperventilate.
"Enough!" Larson demanded.
The room had gone quieter than the dark side of the moon. When Larson spoke again, it was a barely controlled whisper. "Pay attention, love. I'm about to lay down some knowledge—best relationship advice of your life."
I was bent over with my hands on my knees, focusing to get my breathing under control. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
I looked up to see Larson hovering over Atlas's restrained, possessed form. The demon didn't appear the slightest bit concerned. In fact, he looked amused.
"Right now?" Larson's timing couldn't be worse. And, the subject matter...really? If I needed advice on my non-existent love life, I'd call the Loveline. Sure, he probably had more experience in the field itself, but I figured the experts down at the radio station o' love would be more relatable than an ancient male vamp.
"No. Later." He tossed me an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "Yes—of course right now. Can't you see I'm trying to set up a clever one-liner?"
If I didn't think it would make me sick, I'd have rolled my eyes. "Oh. Well then, by all means, continue."
"Thank you, oh Ruiner of Moments," he said with heavy sarcasm, before refocusing on our captive.
I simply could not fight the urge any longer. I rolled my eyes regardless of my fears, and was pleased to find it only made me slightly nauseous. The contents of my stomach stayed down, and I noticed, as well, that my breathing was almost back to normal.
Larson stood at a slight angle, allowing me a view of his profile, as he loomed over Roland in Atlas's body.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You may wish to a make a mental note, love." He paused for emphasis, before continuing. "Contrary to popular belief, the quickest way to a man's heart is not through his stomach..."
With raised brows, I waited for the punch line to drop.
Larson looked almost feral. "It's through his chest."
And there it was.
I heard the wet, tearing sounds before I saw him move, like how thunder proceeds lightening. In his bloodied hand, Larson held the still beating heart of Atlas Caine.
He squeezed, causing the muscle to give, burst, and ooze between his fingers. And as he did this, Atlas watched, blinking with his mouth agape, for eleven seconds—I know. I counted.
Atlas stopped blinking when his heart stopped beating. I saw the life seep from his eyes. There was no doubt in my mind. Atlas Caine was dead.
Larson turned to me. In a tone as casual as a conversation over a summer picnic, he asked, "Is it just me, or was that tremendously anticlimactic?"
"Yes," I answered. It was the only word I got out, because my breakfast decided to follow right behind it.