Page 12 of Nazab

Nazab’s hands clamped down on the armrests and his eyes went to her stump. “Is that how you lost your limb, female?” he asked. His body was tense, but his tone was gentle.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “My leg was severed and mom died instantly. A paramedic bystander saved my life by putting a tourniquet on my leg. The surgeons couldn’t save my leg, but they were amazed at how quickly and how well I healed.”

They both examined her stump. It was exposed, since the prosthesis was just a padded circle of metal with four metal poles holding it together. The foot attachment was hidden by her sneaker.

“It’s a wonder they didn’t figure out you’re not a full human,” Nazab said.

“I guess my blood looked normal to them,” she figured. “Aunt Pansy was notified, since she was the only family contact mom had in her phone,” Monica went on. “She came to get me from the hospital when I’d healed up and ended up raising me.”

Nazab watched her face intently. “I take it she wasn’t happy about suddenly becoming a replacement mother for her niece?”

Monica thought about it before replying. “My aunt was stern, but fair,” she explained. “She was very religious and forced me to go to church every Sunday. I know she did her best, but she never pretended to love me like a mother would have. Her parents wanted nothing to do with my mother or me. I never even got to meet them.”

“Your aunt and her parents didn’t approve of your mother?” he figured.

“The fact that mom fell pregnant out of wedlock was a big no-no,” Monica said with an eyeroll. “I can’t tell you how many lectures I sat through about how wrong it is to have sex before getting married.”

“Have you ever broken that rule?” he asked curiously.

“Of course,” Monica said with a grin. “But not very often,” she added. “I have a rule I follow to protect myself from men who just want to use me.”

The knight’s gaze sharpened in interest. “What is this rule, female?”

“I’ll tell you about it if you ever need to know it,” she said cryptically. There was no point discussing something so personal when they’d only just met.

He let it go and changed the topic. “I need to find Amaros and my brothers,” Nazab said. “Perhaps they’ll know why you’re so different from the cambions we’ve encountered in the past eras.”

“The Mad Prophet talks about the good and bad aliens from time to time,” Monica said. “He’s been warning people to stay away from Manhattan, but Xathan uses the same channel and keeps contradicting him.”

“Xathan?” Nazab asked with a frown. “What does he say?”

“He says he works for Governor Giamano,” she replied. “They’re inviting survivors to travel to Manhattan. They’ve been working on getting supplies up and running again, but they’ve told people to bring their own food with them. They’re building an army of militants to protect the civilians.”

Nazab scoffed at that idea. “Xathan works for Rahab, the commander of the Soldiers of Chaos,” he said. “The militants will be ordered to fight my brothers and me once we engage in battle with them.”

“It sounds like you guys are going to be vastly outnumbered,” Monica said. “Didn’t you say there are only twenty knights in total?”

He nodded, now looking a bit grim. “We’ve had to contend with human minions ever since their kind first appeared,” he said glumly. “Wars have become far more complicated with each new era. This time it will be even harder to defeat our foes.”

“Humans have invented some pretty powerful weapons now,” she agreed. “Your squad will be in big trouble unless they can make themselves bulletproof and rocket proof.”

“Amaros is strong, but not even his magic will be enough to save us from bazooka fire once we’ve all gathered together,” the warrior said sourly. His mind was coughing up all sorts of weapons humans had designed. Each one was more dangerous than the last.

Monica studied Nazab, taking in his amazing physique and perfect face. She was ridiculously attracted to him. He was her exact type, even if he was a few inches taller than the guys she’d dated in the past. His brown hair was short, but thick. She longed to run her fingers through it and maybe give him a treatment to make it feel silky smooth. His beard was perfectly trimmed and framed his strong jaw.

“Why are you staring at my beard, Monica Yamil?” Nazab asked.

Jerking out of her fantasy of rubbing her face against his beard to see how soft it was, she blushed again. She seemed to be doing that around him a lot. “I’m just admiring how well-groomed you are, for an alien,” she joked. “Do you need to wash your hair and beard, or do they always look this perfect?”

“Knights and soldiers need to wash our hair and bodies,” he replied. “We don’t require food or water.”

“That’s so freaky,” she said. “Does this mean you’ll let me give you a treatment?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly and this time he didn’t seem to have an explanation mentally handed to him. “What sort of treatment are you talking about?” he asked cautiously.

She snickered at how uneasy he sounded. “I was a hairdresser before the Rapture,” she said. “The treatment is to make hair and beards soft and silky.”

“Oh,” he said, now sounding a bit disappointed. “Is that why your former friends’ hair looked so immaculate?” he asked, gesturing at her own strawberry-blonde locks.