Prologue
Steel
Freezing rain pelts me as I fly down the highway on my Ducati. My hands are numb despite my leather gloves, but that doesn’t stop me from picking up speed during the straightaways. The desolate countryside I ride through has plenty of those.
I haven’t seen so much as a single exit in miles and nothing that even hints at civilization in more than thirty minutes. I’m in Wyoming. Or maybe I’ve already hit Montana? Hard to tell when only a quarter of my brain is actually focused on the ride.
I fled Seraph Academy without having any real idea of where to go. I headed east toward Denver and then cut up north to get out of the state.
My body is stretched to its limits, wound like an overstrained rubber band. When I finally snap, I want to be as far away from that place as possible.
Water sluices in twin rivulets on either side of my front tire as it cuts through the downpour of rain and ice. If I was smart, I would have gotten off the road hours ago. Riding a motorcycle in weather like this would be suicide for a human, but my angel-born senses are sharper and more focused, downgrading the danger level from “absolute insanity” to “mildly stupid.”
My headlight reflects off a sign in the distance: Welcome to Montana. That solves that mystery.
I drive another thirty minutes before finding a motel. It’s early morning when I pull my bike into a parking spot and cut the engine. Despite my iron will to forge ahead through the night, my body aches with exhaustion. An hour of sleep is all I’ll allow myself. It should be enough to keep my edge.
Yanking off my helmet, I notice the rain has stopped, but ice is crusted on my clothes. Shards of frozen water crack off the leather of my jacket as I tug my belongings from the saddlebags on either side of my ride.
Shoving through the front doors of the shabby motel, the glass door bangs against the wall, startling the clerk awake where she was dozing behind the front desk. She yelps and teeters on her stool. Grabbing the tabletop in front of her to right herself, she knocks over a cup, scattering pens across the shiny surface.
“Shoot.” Her hands run back and forth, collecting the fallen objects. It’s not until I’m standing right in front of her that she glances up. Her eyes grow in size as she takes me in, pupils dilating even as she clears her throat and leans away.
Slight enough that a strong breeze would knock her over, she hunches, subconsciously trying to make herself appear smaller, but it’s too late to hide—I already have her in my sights.
Nephilim may be tasked with protecting humanity, but I’m still a hunter by nature—doubly so as a shifter—and have to tamp down the desire to attack when something cowers in front of me. It’s that innate nature that makes humans wary of Nephilim. We may look like them, but we are a different species with lifetimes of violence bred into our very DNA.
“One night. Paying with cash.” My voice is extra deep from lack of use for the last half day.
I plunk a hundred dollar bill on the counter and wait for her to take it. She doesn’t move, hardly breathes. Like a deer in headlights, she remains motionless until I remember to break eye contact.
Being fully immersed in the human world is going to take some getting used to.
I scan the motel lobby, curling my upper lip in disgust. I’ll be staying in roadside dumps like this for the foreseeable future. I can’t use a credit card and there are only so many places I can rent a room with cash. But it can’t be helped. My parents will be on me in a heartbeat if I leave an electronic trail, and I need the rest of my family to stay out of this. It’s my mess, and I’m going to clean it up myself.
“Here you go.” The girl’s voice is soft as she pushes the bills across the counter. “Check-out is at eleven and the Wi-Fi password is on a card in the room. You’re in 104 on the first floor.”
Fisting the money, I shove the change in my pocket and palm the key card with only a slight tick of my chin to acknowledge I heard her.
I’m about to stalk off to my rented room—dang, I’m tired—when she slides another piece of paper toward me. I blink at the set of numbers scribbled across the small square and glance at the girl with a raised eyebrow.
“In case you need anything while you’re here, you can reach me on this number.” Pink stains her high cheekbones as she tucks her long brown hair behind an ear.
Interesting. This one is braver than I guessed. Most people consider lions majestic, but not many would seek to tangle with one.
I cock my head and stare into her watered-down blue eyes. Blue is the right color, but the shade I’m partial to is the midnight version—dark enough to appear black at night and rich as the deep ocean in the light of day.
The corners of the girl’s mouth lift in a tentative smile as I continue to observe her. Perhaps I’m confusing bravery with stupidity.
“This is my personal cell number,” she emphasizes unnecessarily.
The chuckle I release is dry and rusty. I shake my head, turning my back on the stupidly brave girl, and stride away.
Doesn’t she know the devil comes disguised in a pretty package?
Chapter One
Moist air caresses my neck, and the bed shakes rhythmically with each heavy heave from the large animal behind me. My tank top is plastered to my skin, and my cheek rests on something damp.
Turning my head, I’m face-to-face with a black and white Great Dane snuggled up against me. Its hind legs stretch over my hip and waist, and its tongue lolls on my pillow. A drool stain the size of the massive dog’s head spreads across the pillowcase.
Nasty.
I’m gonna kill Tinkle. The idiot likes to shift into large animals and cuddle with me at night.
My pillow buzzes. I reach underneath it and grab my cell—the first phone I’ve ever had. Aside from the occasional group text, and the random gifs Sterling likes to send me, I hardly ever use it. It’s basically a glorified alarm clock.
The screen lights up with one word: Unknown.
My heart starts to beat double-time. This is the fifth unknown call this month. Most of them have come through in the early morning or middle of the night. When I answer, I’m only ever met with silence—total serial killer stuff—but my gut tells me who is on the other line.
Maneuvering out from under the dog sprawled across my comforter, I pad to the bathroom, making sure Ash is still asleep. She’s a lump under the covers, slowly inflating and deflating with her even breaths. Only a few clusters of ringlets peek out from under her blankets.
Shutting the door as gently as possible, I scurry to the far end of the small room, anxious to answer the call before my voicemail picks up.
I hit the green button on the screen and hold it to my ear for several ticks before saying anything.
“Hello?” The word passes my lips as barely more than a whisper.
As usual, I’m greeted by silence.
My stomach bottoms out in disappointment.
Is he ever going to talk to me? If not, why does he even bother calling?
I slide down the wall until my butt settles on the chilled tiled floor, pulling my knees to my chest.
“Steel?”
I know it’s him. I haven’t told anyone about these calls, mostly because there’s nothing to tell since he never talks. Also, I don’t want to explain how I know it’s him. With every call, there’s a tug on my heart that only ever happens when he’s around.