Nephilim the Reckoning (Wrath of the Fallen Book 3)

The stone altar was stained dark on top. There was no cross this time, no attempt at bringing a symbol of light or love to this place. I stood surrounded by darkness, staring at the body of the man who lay on the thick slab. He was young, maybe only in his twenties like me, his hair and beard a warm chestnut brown, and his skin tanned, but whether by race or sun, I couldn’t tell. He stared up into the darkness above him, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I made no move towards him, somehow knowing I wasn’t really here. This was just a memory, someone else’s. I wasn’t really here.

I watched, detached, as another man stepped up to the altar. Black candles burned in tall ornate iron candelabras on either side, and as the second man moved into the flickering circle of light, I could see that he was almost identical to the man in front of him—same hair colour, same eyes, same jawline. The man leaning over the altar seemed different, however. Though they both wore their hair long, his was tangled and wild, his skin was darker, and his muscles were more defined under the linen shirt he wore. Their eyes met, but neither said a word.

In the darkness, the whispering started. Mutterings and cries and laughter that sent chills down my spine. Movement caught my eye, but I couldn’t turn my head to see. I was paralysed. Out of the shadows came human figures, their eyes dead and devoid of any emotion or humanity. Men, women, and children staggered and crawled slowly towards the altar. Their bodies were naked and bloodied, with gaping wounds and sores and strange symbols carved into their skin. They reached for the men, but once they came to the dais, it seemed like they could go no farther. Their outstretched arms reached for the men who showed no notice, intent only on each other.

A flash of candlelight across metal caught my attention, and my eyes moved from the bodies to the man standing at the altar as he raised his arms above his head. Rage and fury were etched on his face as he brought a knife down in one swift motion, driving it deep into the chest of the man on the altar—a sacrifice. The notion floated into my head, and I tried to dismiss it, horrified by the thought. He stepped back, leaving the knife embedded in the other man’s chest, gaping at his hands in horror. Blood poured from the body on the altar, bubbling out of the man’s mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, streaming down the sides in rivulets that pooled on the raised stone dais the altar stood upon. The wild-looking man fell to his knees in anguish. I had the strangest urge to comfort him, though he couldn’t even see me.

The bodies around him suddenly froze, then slowly, as one, turned to face me. My blood ran cold as their blank expressions focused on me. The place fell silent, the only sound coming from the weeping man at the altar. As I stood, unable to move or even turn my head, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I knew without looking that there was something behind me, something I felt that I really didn’t want to see. The eyes fixed on my face moved to the darkness behind me, and then they all fell to the ground, prostrating themselves. I could hear my breathing, loud and laboured in the silence, and then I heard it—the breathing behind me that started as an inhale and then deepened into a low rumbling growl that made my heart race. It beat in a primal rhythm, one as old as time itself, urging me to run as fast as I could away from the hunter that I knew now pursued me. The heat of its breath settled on my skin, releasing me from my paralysis, and I opened my mouth and screamed.

My eyes flew open, the scream still lodged in my throat. My heart pounded, and my breathing was ragged. I forced myself to calm, focusing on the tiny standby light of the flat screen TV across the bedroom as I counted along with my breathing. Raising my head slightly, I glanced at Cas in the growing light of dawn. He was flat on his back, his arm underneath me, and my head had been resting on his chest. The strong ropes of his hair fell loose about his face and over his bare chest.

I recognised Sam’s scent. He was spooned behind me, with his tanned arm loosely draped over my waist and his face buried in my hair. I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and for a second, a flash of the nightmare came back to me. I shivered, suddenly cold, and as though he sensed it, Sam brushed his lips gently across my bare shoulder before tilting his cheek against my shoulder blade. Cas moved the arm I wasn’t lying on, resting his free hand on top of mine, and I took a deep breath. I was here, I was safe for the moment, and right now, I was happy for that.NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.