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Learning he was a leviathan, an actual gateway to hell for souls, had been enough of a blow. The harsh reality of Cain’s parentage was the icing on the fucked-up cake.
It was like . . . just . . . why would . . . Wow.
He was studying her hard, no doubt trying to get a sense of how she felt about his none-too-minor declaration. Well, good luck to him with that. Because she wasn’t even sure how she felt about it. Wynter was utterly numb.
She really should say something. She should. But what did you say to someone who proclaimed that they were Satan’s son?
Hell, it was really no wonder that he kept all this shit to himself, or that he’d wanted her to get to know and trust him before he lumbered it on her lap. Who wouldn’t prejudge and brand someone pure evil for being the freaking antichrist?
Her insides coiled as the silence dragged on while he continued to watch her closely, awaiting a response. It was hard to know how to respond. She didn’t want to accidentally say something that would hurt him—he didn’t deserve that. But that would be so easy to do when she wasn’t sure how he felt about his situation.
Did he resent the facts? Was he ashamed? Did he simply not care? Was he proud to be Satan’s son? Did the two once have a good relationship?
She had no freaking idea.
Her monster had absolutely no reaction, because it had only woken long enough to nose around the temple. It had no interest in anything Cain had had to tell her. Kali didn’t seem to be around—
Just then, Cain’s expression shifted. Hardened. He was bracing himself for a rejection he’d concluded was soon coming, Wynter realized. And that pierced right through the numbness that had slipped over her.
Her heart squeezed at the thought that he believed she’d turn away from him. It seemed that a lot of people had, though, didn’t it? He was used to people looking upon him as unnatural.
There was no denying that he’d told her some heavy shit and that it would be totally reasonable for someone to struggle to handle it. But Wynter . . . she couldn’t reject him. She’d originally been resolute that she wouldn’t let whatever he told her change anything. She saw no reason for that to change.
His parentage wasn’t his fault. He had every right to exist, despite what others might have made him believe. She wasn’t going to be one of those people who’d let him down and made him feel unwanted based on his DNA.
So she cleared her throat and then said, “The antichrist.” Her voice cracked a little on the latter word. “I suppose it could be worse.”
He blinked. “Could it?”
“You could have been a guardian. After all you just told me, I officially hate those motherfuckers. How exactly are they supposed to be ‘the light?’ They’re utter assholes.”
Cain didn’t immediately answer, and she could tell she’d taken him off-guard. His probing gaze all but drilled into hers, telling her he wasn’t so convinced that she wasn’t internally freaking out.
“It isn’t so much about their souls, it’s about their powers and natural disposition,” he finally replied. “They’re more likely to choose the path of good, but they don’t always do so. In terms of their abilities, they’re all about creating, healing, and purifying. They have an affinity for the natural elements. They feel a deep connection with nature and draw positive energy from the world around them. You’ve never been to the city beneath Aeon. It’s an underground oasis. They create and sustain it.”
They were probably also responsible for how beautiful the land on the surface of Aeon had once been until she cursed it. “I’d much prefer your garden to an oasis.” Who needed brightly colored flowers and a vibrant lushness when you could have dark botanical splendor and foreboding overtones? “What happened after the war?”
Again, he hesitated to answer for a long moment, still pinning her with a searching look. “The deities finally checked up on Aeon one day, realized what had happened, and promptly snitched. As you can probably deduce from the carvings on the wall, God culled the population of guardians and stole their wings, since He mostly blamed them for the war—”
“Only mostly blamed them?” What the fuck?
“In His view, my kind could have retreated or simply fought in their own defense. We didn’t. We fought to kill. In that sense, we broke His rule, so we were also punished.”
“That’s kind of like a principal of a school suspending both a bully and a kid who fought back in their own defense just to make a point that their rules couldn’t be ignored no matter the situation. Which is something I don’t particularly agree with. Everyone has the basic right to defend themselves. But we’re getting off topic. How exactly were you and the other gatekeepers punished?”
“As with the guardians, we were made infertile and doomed to be weak when out in the sunlight. He essentially disowned us and then created mortals and other creatures far less powerful than we were—probably in the hope that they’d cause less destruction.”
If so, that had been a pointless hope. Humans possessed no supernatural powers at all, and they could be just as monstrous as any preternatural creature out there.
Turning back to the wall, she traced some of the carvings on the cool, rough stone, easily recognizing them as the lesser deities. The female holding scales of justice was Nemesis, the dark figure with a half-moon symbol on its forehead was Nyx, the overly large serpent was Apep, and the female with snakes dangling over Her numerous arms was Kali.
Not quite understanding the tale that this particular cluster of carvings was trying to tell, she looked at Cain as she rubbed her fingers together to wipe away the chalky dust. “What does this mean?”
“The four lesser deities who were meant to watch over us were punished for their neglect by being separated, demoted, and assigned to different regions within purgatory. I’ve never particularly understood why it was considered such an awful punishment.” Cain shrugged. “God has a liking for banishing souls to purgatory. He did the same with the souls of the Nephilim, even those who were unborn, meaning the only existence they ever knew was that of the mists of darkness and so they became darkness; were branded the Rephaim, the dreaded ones.”
“That doesn’t sound creepy at all.” Wynter bit into the inside of her cheek as something occurred to her. “Considering the guardians think themselves superior due to their celestial blood, why don’t they outwardly declare that they’re angels?”
“God doesn’t recognize them as angels any longer. He turned His back on them. They don’t want people to know that.”
