When I pull up to the curb in front of our house, Kaleb immediately hops out and slams the door behind him, more annoyed with me than afraid of the ass whooping we’re definitely getting as soon as we walk inside. Ray and Keziah’s patience only goes so far. We stretched it to the limits when Mildred was ushering everyone out of her house and we asked to stay until Callie woke up.
Releasing a deep breath, I climb out of the truck, walking slowly toward the front door. It’s a nephilim’s duty to hide in plain sight, to be so normal they’re forgettable, which is why the house couldn’t be any more suburban family if they wrapped the damn front yard with a white picket fence. It’s a three-story home, painted in various shades of grey, with large bay windows, a big two-car garage, and a well landscaped front yard, all surrounded with tall shrubs and trees. Its only saving grace is that it sits at the end of a long cul-de-sac, tucked away from the other neighbors. However, it doesn’t keep the nosey old lady two doors down from staring at me through the window with binoculars.
I give her a one-finger salute, watching the blinds scatter as she fumes over being caught. Kaleb fits in, in this environment. I do not. As much as I don’t look forward to the rest of my life, my one silver lining is getting out of this small town where everyone passes around rumors like fucking popcorn.
Before I make it to the front door, Keziah opens the side gate that leads to the backyard and with a single finger, motions for me to follow her. A death dirge plays in my head as we walk toward the back of the house.
She’s silent as we go, moving with unhurried steps to probably drag out the torment. Then again, no one rushes Keziah. She gets to things exactly when she means to, never cowed by anyone. She is one of the most badass women I know, which is great—until all of that badassery is pointed at me.
At some point, she changed out of her pastor clothes from earlier—black slacks and white, button-down shirt with a grey cardigan—and into black leggings, a t-backed tank top, and tennis shoes. Her naturally curly hair is tied off on the top of her head, ensuring that it won’t fall into her eyes. Apparently, she wants full range of motion to kick my ass. It’s also unseasonably clear today, the sky a blinding blue, as if God himself wanted front row seats to see me put in my place and didn’t want a single cloud to obscure the view.This day just keeps getting better.
At the back of the house, the large shrubs and tall trees block a small training ground marked off by four posts and very short grass. It’s where Kaleb and I first learned how to fight. There’s a medium-sized, metal cabinet near the back door that houses basic weapons—staves, short swords, daggers, and throwing knives—which smaller hands could use. Since the Campbells made the dojo at their home, this space is used more for conditioning than training.
Standing just outside of the ring, my arms crossed over my chest and face as blank as I can make it, I wait for whatever Keziah has planned. With her back to me, she silently walks over to the weapons cabinet, then pulls out a metal staff and a dulled short sword. Sweat collects on the back of my neck that I blame on the sun, even though my heartbeat has picked up several degrees. I hate the waiting before a punishment, and she knows that. One time, when I royally fucked up as a kid, she made me stand and wait next to one of these damn posts for nearly an hour.
Keziah releases a controlled breath before turning. For the first time, I think I prefer the waiting. Her dark brown eyes, which look so much like Kaleb’s, are red and watery. She wasn’t silent to torture me. She was silent because she was crying, and it feels like I’ve taken a sucker punch to the gut.
When she reaches me, her chin is up and her shoulders back, the track marks of her tears visible on her cheeks. I want to look anywhere else, but her gaze refuses to let me go.
After clearing her throat, she admonishments, “For what you pulled last night, I should beat your ass until it’s black and blue.” She thumps the staff against the ground. “Going after demons on your own…”
“But that’s what I—” I interject, but her eyes narrow, and she cuts me off before I can finish.
“Quiet. I’m talking. You’re listening,” she lectures, hitting the staff even harder against the ground, the grass muting the sound. “Lord have mercy, you are too old for…” She bites off the last of her sentence, grinding her teeth before starting again, her voice growing in volume with each word. “Do you realize how close you came to dying? You and Kaleb. And for what? Pride?”
Her other hand flexes on the short sword, her knuckles paling with how hard she’s gripping the hilt. She said she ‘should’ beat me, but the weapons in her hands make me wonder if she’s just chosen a different method to whoop my ass.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend myself. To argue that there are things she doesn’t know, but I swallow it.She can’t know about Felix.
Looking down at my feet, I mumble, “I convinced Kaleb to come with me. I thought with the two of us we could take them.”
“Do I look stupid to you?” Keziah retorts, her voice so sharp it could cut to the bone.
“No, ma’am,” I answer quickly, my gaze jumping back to her face, while my heart pounds loudly in my ears.
She purses her lips. “Then don’t lie to me. I know my son. That boy didn’t need any convincing. He envies your calling.”
My head jerks back, and I can’t help the disbelief that takes over my face. “You have to be fuu…dging kidding me.”
Raising a single brow over my near save from cursing, she murmurs, “You’re saving lives. All Kaleb’s ever wanted to do is make a difference. To help people. Talking to the dead isn’t as glamorous.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “There’s nothing glamorous about killing demons.” My stomach rolls, remembering the feeling of mykatanacutting through flesh and bone.
“We all have our jobs to do,” she states plainly, though there’s a hint of weariness in her voice, before she straightens and sniffs, her posture indicating that we’re done with that topic. Clearing her throat, she shares, “Mildred explained the details of last night. How… how you were badly injured and were in no condition to leave.” Keziah swallows heavily. “She also said that it wasn’t a random attack. That...”
“They were looking for me,” I admit, my eyes drifting to the weapons in her hands.
“They?” she echoes, her real question wrapped around the single word.
I shake my head. “Only one of them was part of the group that killed my family. The other was…Nolan’s sister, Letti.”
The memories of all that blood flash before my eyes, and I can practically feel the slickness of it dripping down my bare skin. My chest feels tight as I remember Letti’s empty eyes staring up at me from her decapitated head.No one ever told me how human they’d look.
What I’m thinking must be visible on my face, because Keziah drops the weapons to the grass so she can wrap her arms around me. At five-foot-nine, she’s not a small woman, but in my arms, she feels fragile.
“Oh, honey, I had hoped… well, it doesn’t matter what I’d hoped, but I promise that if you let me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.” She pulls back to cup my face, her hands cold against my sun-warmed skin, and waits until I look into her eyes. “Your family loved you very much, and I’m in no way saying that you should ever let them go. But since the day you walked into this home, you became one of my babies. I protect my own. It woulddestroy meif something happened to you when I could’ve done something about it. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I whisper, my gaze falling.
