Chapter 13 Ezra
Ezra
I spend the next few days locked in my house, papers and notes strewn about every surface, researching the slim leads from the Disciples’ revolting book.
Against my better judgment, I call Thane. I need his help.
“H-hello?”
He sounds groggy and half asleep. I probably should have checked the time before I called, but what I need is more important than some silly human’s sleep.
“Thane, this is Ezra. I’m sorry to bother you, but … I need your help.”
This is the first time in a billion years I’ve asked anyone for help. And help from a human, of all beings.
The lump of pride jammed in my throat might be what finally kills me.
“Christ, Ezra, it’s four in the fucking morning. What could you possibly need help with at this hour?” Thane whispers angrily, the sheets rustling as he gets out of bed.
A woman’s voice mumbles in the background. He must be with Eve.
For his sake, I hope he’s with Eve.
“Yes, well … I apologize. I only need a few moments of your time right now. Can you … um … help me buy a cell phone? As you know, I currently don’t own one and would like to rectify that.
Unfortunately, you know more about this, and I do not have the time to do the research.
I would like to monitor the online shop. ”
I’m lying through my teeth. I don’t give two shits what Thane does with the online shop.
“Seriously? You want to buy a cell phone? To … monitor the online shop?”
Thane’s questions are slow and irritating. He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“I guess this has nothing to do with a certain copper-haired beauty? It’s all business?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You really should learn when to mind your own fucking business,” I snap.
Being a dick will not get me the help I need.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Thane. That was quite rude.
And … I’m sorry I lied. I suppose you’re partially correct about my copper-haired beauty.
She has one of those things, right? I thought it wouldn’t hurt to understand the technology a little better.
Plus, you can use it to access the internet from anywhere, right? Excellent. Where shall I meet you?”
“Ezra, you’re a real piece of work. I’ll help you on one condition.”
Thane is obviously enjoying the small amount of power I’ve just relinquished. If I didn’t need to access the internet immediately, I’d probably be in his home by now, slowly strangling him to death.
“Name your price,” I say through gritted teeth. “Anything.”
“Don’t call me this fucking early ever again.”
Did that ungrateful prick just hang up on me? The nerve.
With a few hours to kill, I decide to check on Aurora, even though she asked me to stay away.
To be honest, I haven’t spent all my time locked in the house. I’ve spent plenty of time with her. She just isn’t aware that I’m there. I don’t go near her, and I have not entered her home again.
A piece of me wants to bash my head against the nearest tree until my brains splatter on the ground. Or tear open my own chest and rip my heart out, just to see if it’s still black inside.
There is obviously something quite wrong with both my mind and my heart. Those two organs, which until now have allowed me to do whatever the fuck I want, are malfunctioning.
My shadows curl around my shoulders. They know I’m falling apart. I don’t need the reminder.
One of them strokes the pulse in my throat, checking my vitals. I slap it away, scowling.
Fantastic. So not only are my shadows now suddenly sentient, they’re also physicians-in-training.
Everything feels sharp and wrong. And still, all I can think about is her.
I don’t want Aurora to fear me or be angry with me. But I must admit, her rage at the bookshop, although humbling, made me want her even more.
The bloody ovaries on that woman.
It made me want to kneel.
Me? Kneel?! Ha!
Wait. Fuck.
Do you see what I have to deal with? Do you see why I can’t think clearly? I’m supposed to be in control. That’s all I’ve ever fucking been.
And yet—the minute I think about submitting to her, rolling over for her, allowing her to ride my cock when I’ve allowed no one that kind of power over me, I need to find a place to jerk off.
Christ, she might as well keep my balls in a jar on her mantle right next to those fucking anime men she fawns over.
My shadows twitch, one of them dragging across my thigh in agreement.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I scowl, my jaw clenching hard enough to ache. “And what the fuck is going on with you?”
Billions of years without a twitch unless I willed it. Now they’re stroking my throat, getting handsy with my leg, and acting like I’m not the one in control.
“You little shits are brave, I’ll give you that,” I mutter.
But for once, I don’t lash out. Not at them. Never at her.
So, instead of taking what is obviously mine, I watch her from a distance with the sole intention of keeping her safe. The shadows tighten around my wrist, and for a moment, they pulse with dark approval.
Something at the back of my brain screams at me to protect her at all costs. Like I’m some kind of white fucking knight. I’m not. I’m a blackened, damaged monster who devours little humans like her. The two halves of me—devotion and destruction—won’t stop tearing each other apart.
And apparently, my own shadows have picked a side.
Around mid-morning, Thane calls, and I meet him at a store outside of town to purchase my cell phone.
Thane programs his number and the shop’s number into the device and shows me where to find the internet.
It’s really quite easy to use, especially when you’ve been adapting to new technology for thousands of years.
Within minutes of being home, I find several posts on something called Reddit about Lucifer’s descendants. Skimming through the posts, I notice quite a few from around five years ago.
Christ, for a group suckling at the teat of tradition, they’ve sure adapted quickly to modern technology.
Most of the posts are violent, hateful, and grossly misogynistic. The only responses they receive are from other people claiming to be Disciples themselves, and thankfully, I find many of the posts buried deep in topics related to cryptids and the supernatural.
This all feels so pointless. Now I know why I resisted accessing the internet for so many years. Even the shadows seem to agree, flicking irritated tendrils at the phone like it owes them an apology.
I guess this is my life now—obsessing over a woman, drowning in internet garbage, and managing a pack of sentient shadow shits who apparently have opinions.
The cosmos really went for the full dick-and-balls combo this time.
In a fit of frustration, I throw my new phone on the bed.
Why did I think I could find the answers I need in a place where anyone can post anything?
Fuck the truth. It’s obviously buried under clickbait, crypto manifestos, and some guy with a six-pack calling himself a “spiritual alpha.”
I’ve started a list. When I need to feed again, I know where to begin.
I pace the length of my bedroom for hours, picking up the notes I made throughout the week and leafing through ancient books. I’m missing something important, but what? There’s a thread somewhere I can pull that will unravel my suspicions and reveal everything about Aurora.
And then something Thane discussed with a customer a few years ago suddenly resurfaces.
It was a unique moment when someone came into the shop with the specific intent of finding a first edition written by a family member.
Because Thane is, well, Thane, he asked the customer all kinds of questions about himself and the author he was searching for.
The sweaty meat bag told Thane he had discovered his connection to the author on a website that helps humans track their ancestors using census records and other historical data.
Grabbing my phone from the bed, I search for the website and set up an account. I know this is a long shot, but it’s the only idea I have left.
I enter the name Adelynn Paxton, the woman the Disciples identified in the 1850s, into the search bar. My heart drops when thousands of results appear.
Hm, this might be more difficult than I expected. There’s a city listed next to her name in my notes. Maybe this is where she lived?
Jackpot!
Thank the darkness between stars that Somerset is a small town, because the tiny screen displays the image of a raven-haired beauty who looks startlingly like Aurora.
My shadows tighten, shuddering at the sight, recognition prickling my spine like a fanged whisper. Adelynn looks proud and powerful, but it’s obvious, even in the picture, that her power doesn’t compare to Aurora’s.
I follow the clues that unravel from the dark-haired woman, but I hit a dead end somewhere in the 1940s.
Trying a different tactic, I search for Ellie Hagan.
I click on a picture of Aurora’s mother, who has rich brown hair and fire dancing in her soft, dark brown eyes.
The similarities between Aurora, Ellie, and Adelynn are undeniable.
The same sharp nose, the same full lips, the same cheekbones. They could be triplets.
But it’s not enough.
For some reason, Ellie’s ancestral path is quite short. There’s nothing about her family prior to 1963. As I painstakingly sift through Aurora’s family history, I notice that one of her grandmother’s previous addresses was in Somerset, Pennsylvania.
And not just any address, the exact same address as Adelynn.
“Fuck …”
The thread snaps, the entire tapestry unraveling before my eyes. The shadows pulse frantically, as if they knew the truth all along.
She’s a goddess. A queen. A myth come to life.
Aurora is the Daughter of the Morning Star, a direct descendant of the rulers of Hell.
Leaning back in my chair, I place a hand over my heart as Aurora’s soul calls to mine from a few short miles away, tugging at something deep in my chest.
I exhale sharply through my nose, a slow grin curling at the edges of my mouth.
The Disciples have no idea what they’re up against.
They think they’ve seen monsters?
Wait until they see what I become for her.
But the thought barely settles before something else claws its way to the forefront. Something I should’ve realized when I had her in my hands, had her panting beneath me, her voice pulling want from the part of me even the constellations forgot.
She’s a virgin.
A vicious jolt of hunger rips through me, locking my muscles tight, so suddenly that my shadows snap. One coils around my wrist, bracing, like it just heard the filthiest fucking secret.
A Daughter’s power manifests after her first time, and I know that if she had claimed her power, she would’ve used it.
But she didn’t.
Because she’s untouched.
Still her own.
Something deep inside me shifts. Not just hunger. Not just the need to possess.
Something worse. Something older.
Something that knew her name before light broke the dark.
Before the stars screamed themselves into existence.
It’s a hunger to awaken her. It has to be me. It will be me.
My shadows squeeze tighter, curling against my chest. They feel it too.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’d flay myself down to muscle and sinew if she whispered her delicate, desirous prayers with her teeth against my throat.
I’d carve my own heart out and bleed for her vicious joy.
And when she’s ready—when she finally understands what she is—I’ll build her a throne from the bones of those who wronged her.
I’ll weave it with wildflowers, soft and delicate, so she never forgets she’s exalted.
And I will kneel at her feet, patiently waiting for her command. Because I am the knife she holds. The storm she calls. The monster who would torch creation, just to watch the firelight dance in her eyes.
I press my hands against the desk, grounding myself, but it’s fucking useless.
Every instinct in my body is screaming. Every pulse of my shadows demands that I go to her, that I make sure—make goddamn sure—she doesn’t waste herself on some human who isn’t worthy of touching her.
This is it. This is where I finally lose my fucking mind.
I’ve devoured men alive, burned cities to the ground, shattered empires with my bare hands, but this? This is what breaks me?
Some tiny, freckled thing with fire in her blood and a sharp fucking mouth?
My shadows ripple with quiet amusement. One curls around my throat, petting me like I’m some trembling little beast in need of reassurance.
I snarl, baring my teeth as I shove it off.
Pathetic.
Utterly fucking pathetic.
But none of it changes the fact that I’m already on my feet, already moving, already pulling on my coat like I don’t know exactly what I’m about to do. The chime of my grandfather clock interrupts the battle between the white knight and the black monster in my head.
Shit.
She’s going on her little date. With a human. A human.
I should let her go. Let her play.
Let her scrape her knees and come home crying.
But I won’t because she’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.
So let her flirt. Let him think he stands a chance. Let him stumble through compliments. Let him make her laugh.
I’ll be there when it all falls apart. With my broken pieces and blood-soaked edges, I won’t be perfect. I won’t be easy. But I’ll be hers if she wants me.