Chapter 43
Nicholas
Ashfall felt colder than the rest of the city.
Or maybe the chilling visual of the dystopian-esque landscape made it appear that way.
The heavy rain didn’t help. Ice drops fell along Nicholas’s exposed neck.
But hopefully the elements kept the predators away long enough for him to find the clarity he searched for.
You are the predator.
Sometimes it was easy for him to forget that.
He never imagined he’d end up here again, but Zayn had once found answers under the stars, and so maybe he would too. He stood close enough to the roof’s edge to get the blood pumping, but not enough to say he’d faced down one of his greatest fears.
“Who are you beneath the stars?”
Zayn had asked that of Muharib once, to which he’d replied, “Warrior.” The very definition of his name.
He’d said it was who he’d always be. Nicholas recalled the disappointment on Zayn’s face, and could still see the regret in Gabriel’s expression when he’d muttered the same question to himself here on this very roof.
“By the time I understood the bigger question, the greater lesson, it was too late.”
What was the greater lesson? Nicholas wished he’d asked.
He remembered feeling brave that night, inspired, and safe enough to put his life in Gabriel’s hands. That was the night he fell irrevocably hard for the man he now sought to get back to.
He kept his gaze on the night sky, seeing beyond the ominous clouds and the downpour that would obscure the clusters of light from the human eye.
“Who am I, right here, right now?”
Rainwater sluiced down his cheeks while he waited for a response, a sign, something outside of himself. His beach water rippled, disturbing his core, making his whole body tense.
Nicholas averted his gaze, eyes now cemented on the roof’s ledge. Could that be the solution? If he overcame his fear of heights, his fear of falling… Would he be able to let Gabriel back in?
Could it be that simple, yet so complicated?
Skydiving was the only thing left on his to-do list, something he’d already reconciled with never accomplishing. But maybe here, this lonely and desperate, he could do it. He could jump.
He shuffled forward, bending at the knees, fighting for air he didn’t need when the taste of rotten ocean water hit the back of his tongue. Swallowing it down, he inched closer, ignoring the poisoned waves crashing against his eardrums.
His wet shoes squelched against the concrete, clothes and eyelashes laden as well. The rain pushed against him, offering resistance to his progress.
“Who are you beneath the stars?”
Lightning struck, highlighting how much closer he was to the edge of his fear.
“Who are you beneath the stars?”
His legs trembled, and every step felt as if taken in quicksand.
“Who are you beneath the stars?”
He could almost see over the lip now.
“Who are you beneath the stars?”
“I don’t know!”
The roar of thunder consumed his shout of frustration, and he stepped onto the corner ledge before he lost his nerve.
The hiss of rain masked his sharp inhale as the toes of his shoes clung to air. His eyes widened over the barren landscape, riddled with neglect. He tightened his spine, held his breath, refused to even blink, terrified of what would happen if any part of him moved.
Something sounded in the distance, a hollowed-out whoosh that silenced the storm.
Nicholas narrowed his gaze toward the fringes of Ashfall, a distance too great for even him to see. The noise grew louder, a heavy thudding that matched the pace of his frantic heart.
Whatever it was surged closer, swiftly, purposefully, with a target in mind.
His limbs locked, holding him in place, forcing him to wait for whatever approached. It traveled faster and faster until he could clearly make out the sound of a raging tide. Time stood still.
“No,” he breathed.
A tidal wave crashed through decayed buildings, shattering windows and flooding the streets. It raced toward him with impatience, its current black and slick, coating and further rotting everything it came in contact with.
Rusted fences fell, burnt-out cars groaned, crumbled in on themselves, and concrete barriers melted away. All obstacles were eliminated.
Nicholas’s fangs forced his lips apart, the malice filling the air stabbing at his skin, looking for a way in.
Run.
Run.
Run!
But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t step back from the ledge.
He tried to freeze the current, but it only angered it, ice blasting away from the surface with a screech of fury. There was no escaping it. It didn’t matter that he stood hundreds of feet above the sinister maelstrom. His beach wanted him, and with a ferocity akin to gnashing teeth.
As though manifested by night, a murder of crows blasted upward, sending him sprawling onto his back. Nicholas shielded himself as thousands of them circled and cawed above him, manipulating the air, their sweeping wings blotting out the moon.
Stagnant water whipped at him, freezing before shattering into crystallized particles around him.
Nicholas staggered to his hands and knees, bracing against the whirling cyclone the riotous birds created.
“Stop,” he panted, senses overstimulated.
“Stop.”
They squawked in formation, their beating wings rivaling the thunder of hooves.
“Stop!”
They vanished in an instant, as if a black hole had sucked them in. The abrupt silence was equally deafening as the pandemonium.
Nicholas crawled to the edge of the roof, not trusting his legs yet. Everything down below was as it should be; the rickety fence still leaning on its rusted feet.
A manic laugh bubbled up through the lingering sense of foreboding. Was it possible for immortals to lose their minds?
Blue and Yellow landed on his shoulder. He was used to them appearing out of thin air now, and no longer questioned how they found him.
“I can’t do it,” he said, measuring the stretch to the ground.
Blue appeared in his field of vision, flapping fiercely. The cowardly feelings Nicholas harbored about himself were fleeting, replaced by unfurling optimism. He held a hand out for the swallowtail to land on.
“Thanks,” he whispered. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Preferably from somewhere that didn’t reek of dead bodies and buried secrets.
Yellow bounced around on his wet, tangled hair, something he affectionately did often.
“Come on, let’s go home.” He glanced toward the street once more before turning toward the stairwell.
A short while later, his phone vibrated as he crossed the boundary into Irongard. He stared at the voicemail notification from Liam, confused, having not felt the device ring. It was well after midnight. Why was the priest still awake?
“Nicholas, it’s Liam…”
Nicholas stopped walking, Blue and Yellow hovering near him. His friend sounded troubled, breathless.
“There’s something—”
The message cut off, leaving Nicholas to speculate. What had he been about to say? Going off of how he sounded and the time, Nicholas couldn’t come up with anything good. He detoured to St. Michael’s, Blue and Yellow vanishing along the way.
In need of a shortcut, he traversed the shadowy passageways, narrowly avoiding the vermin feasting on rot along the backstreets. Twenty minutes later, he rounded the last moonlit bend, placing him across the street from the soaring parish.
Something immediately felt off to Nicholas.
Fog cloaked the towering spire, the arched doors catching the wind. Nicholas cast his senses out, picking up nothing inside the church. Not a creak, not a whisper, not a single heartbeat.
He blasted through the ornate doors, expecting to find that the priest had suffered a medical emergency. Stumbling to a stop at the rear of the nave, his shocked gaze landed on the altar.
Men in black coats surrounded Father Murphy, guns pointed at his head. Their vacant gazes turned toward Nicholas, expressions blank. Tears streamed down the priest’s face, worsening when he noticed Nicholas.
“Nicholas, run!”
The largest man struck him with the butt of his weapon, opening a deep gash on his forehead. Nicholas flinched, too stunned to do anything else.
“Nicholas,” a dark voice crooned, filled with curiosity and hunger, as though his name carried a taste.
It wasn’t Kyrin. He would’ve known his villainous voice anywhere.
But he did recognize the man who’d struck Liam as one of Kyrin’s men.
He’d been seated with the crime Lord that night at Enzo’s.
Nicholas recalled the way his heavy gaze had landed on him with an unconcealed promise of violence.
His green eyes held nothing but oblivion now.
Nicholas whipped his head around, searching for the source. That was when he noticed the other fifty or so men along the perimeter, and even more staring down at him from the gallery.
All at once, the barrage of their heartbeats assaulted Nicholas, as though some mystic veil keeping them hidden had been lifted. It wasn’t any of them who spoke. They seemed incapable of anything more than killing.
“P-please… let him go.”
“And why would I do that?”
He didn’t raise his voice, yet his accented drawl traveled, bouncing off the slab stone walls, seeming to come from everywhere.
“B-because it’s me you want.”
Liam shook his head, the wound above his brow bleeding profusely. The copper scent twisted Nicholas’s stomach.
Movement came from the back of the sanctuary.
A man stepped from the shadows, sliding his hood back just enough to reveal his hidden features.
He had intelligent eyes and skin a shade brighter than night, with a phenotype similar to Muharib and the others.
Not the same, but closely related. He was beautiful, but as Nicholas knew now, danger usually was.
He inhaled audibly, and Nicholas shivered, feeling it along his neck even though a considerable distance separated them.
The man tilted his head, his seemingly growing curiosity bringing him a step further into the light.
Nicholas reassessed the situation, starting with the men holding—or reaching—for their weapons. They were dead behind the eyes, but alive. Could they be vampires?