Page 1 of The Nephilim's Finesse

1 Victorija

I jolted awake. My wrists were cruelly suspended above me; my shoulders contorted in agony. I surveyed my body without opening my eyes, sensing the torrid pain of silver-spiked metal shackles on my feet and wrists. Every inch of me throbbed with torment. This could only mean one thing. I let out a silent sigh. No, not again! Suppressing a groan, I fought to clear the fog from my mind and feigned unconsciousness, straining to hear any sound. A distant electric hum mingled with the ticking of a clock, while the absence of breaths, voices, or traffic only heightened my dread. Taking a deep breath, the aroma of aged concrete and the musty scent of mould mixed with the pungent smell of cleaning products and stagnant air. Sniffing deeper, I smelt the coppery whiff of dried blood on me, and him.

I stood on the battlefield, surrounded by utter chaos. The once lush grass was now brutally trampled down; deep craters had mercilessly ripped apart the earth at the spots where the demons had emerged from below. The air was filled with the stench of brimstone, blood, sweat, and entrails. Deafening sounds of metal clanging against each other, snarling and roaring from the demons, shouted orders across the field, and screams from wounded soldiers made my ears nearly explode. Next to me, Nephilim and witches were dying. I smiled wickedly, hoping even more would follow soon. After the demons and jackals had viciously attacked the Nephilim brotherhood and sacrificed themselves, the fae—our new allies—and my vampires had ferociously attacked. It had been promising, my plans nearly coming to fulfilment: Weaken the Nephilim. Kill as many as possible. Capture the pregnant hag and use the child to gain more power. Despite my mole Umbra's assurance that the witches and warlocks would join in the battle, I was confident that we'd be able to defeat them effortlessly. We had ‌had support from Hell, after all. Once the shadow demons and hellhounds had risen from the earth, it seemed the battle would be over in a flash. However, something unexpected happened: My enemies had been joined by angels. By fucking unbelievable angels! The holy light of their presence blazed like a furnace, scalding and incinerating the demons and vampires with no mercy, cooking them alive from within until nothing remained but ash. The angels turned the tide of the battle and destroyed the demons, and at that moment, my plans were thwarted.

Now, this huge, dark-skinned Nephilim stood before me, hate in his eyes, a naginata in his hands. He lunged forward with his pole weapon, its curved blade flashing like lightning in the moonlight as it cut through the air towards me. I leapt aside and countered with my extended fingernails, claws that slashed at him in a flurry of movement. We clashed, our weapons clanging off each other as we fought for control, the sound of desperate yells and high-pitched squeals surrounding us. Eventually, I was able to disarm him, but he reached for his hidden sai, sharp, short weapons meant for stabbing deep into flesh, and continued his attack on me. He was an exceptional fighter, and my immortal body was tired, my feet sliding over the blood-soaked ground, trying to gain a firm footing, to no avail. I jumped into the air to attack him from above. Instantly, he beat his huge black wings, and we met in the middle, his arms around me, his eyes calculating. I could smell the blood from fallen vampires on him, his masculine sweat; the beads on his forehead glistened in the radiant light from the angels. He moved his head and connected it with mine hard. I struggled to break free, but after the fourth time, all went black.

That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up here. This could only mean one thing: we lost. How many vampires were dead? Did they at least kill enough of those bloody Blackwings and those cursed hags and warlocks?

Carefully, I opened my eyes, my red curls a curtain before my face. I lifted my head and studied the undecorated, grey-painted room. The floor was made of mottled grey linoleum. In it, two shackles were mounted into the concrete, my foot links attached. They’d removed my boots but hadn’t stripped me of my socks, so the enchanted metal wasn’t burning my skin. I glanced up and realised that the shackles for my wrists dangled from the ceiling. There was a single bulb in the middle, although it wasn't lit. Despite that, I could still make out everything in the small room, thanks to my dark vision. I hung at the back of the empty room. Opposite me, there was a door with a small window, nothing more. Through the dried blood and mud, his scent was still all over me, surrounding me while I waited in the darkness.

Several hours later, the light in the corridor outside the tiny window in the door was lit. Three people were walking towards my cell: Asasel, the leader of the Nephilim; Puriel, the bitch from the Met who made life difficult for me; and him, my captor. Light exploded over me, and I squinted my eyes momentarily before they adjusted to the brightness. The Nephilim entered the room, filling it with hundreds of new aromas. The sharp aftershave of Asasel, the garlic breath of Puriel's eaten food, the mud on their boots. And him. His body odour filled my nostrils, and the earthy, masculine scent smelt exquisite. I suppressed a smile while my fangs elongated. After defeating him, I'd drink from him, taste his delicious blood if the flavour of his life essence was as good as his fragrance, and make him suffer for what he had done to me. Maybe I'd take him to my lair and keep him alive for a while.

Asasel stepped forward, still too far out of reach to do him any harm, but in my shackles, I couldn't move much anyway. He was as huge and as black as night; I remembered times when people like him were slaves in rich houses. I was told they were dangerous and dark and I should stay back. Nothing good would come of them for a pure girl like me. Hundreds of years later, I wasn’t a pure girl anymore, and he wasn’t a slave. Instead, he was powerful and menacing.

"You…" Anger radiated from him.

The sound of his voice grated on my nerves, like nails on a chalkboard, setting me on edge with a visceral reaction I couldn't control. I bared my razor-sharp fangs and hissed at him. He balled his fists and snarled. His enormous wings unfolded, and one bony wingtip pointed threateningly at my throat, ready to slice me open. His eyes burned with rage as he glared down at me. The wingtip pressed more forcefully against my windpipe, making breathing impossible. Luckily, I had no need for that, but the terror of suffocation and searing pain coursed through me. If he squeezed tighter, he'd break my vocal cords and windpipe, making it futile to speak. His jugular vein pulsed wildly as I sensed the sharpness of my fangs in anticipation of defending myself. Yet, I held back. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on his face to not provoke him further.

"Seven Nephilim died because of your delusional world-domination fantasies!" Spittle flew in my face while he yelled at me. His fists shook at his sides. Underneath his heavy, musky aftershave, the stench of his sweat oozed out.

I concentrated on holding my face in a neutral position and not showing any disgust or insult at the words he threw at me. People told you so much if they thought you were indifferent. Seven Nephilim dead? Splendid. A quarter of the Nephilim on the island had been destroyed. The attack was successful on this point. They would be enervated for several decades. We vampires could make new ones in a heartbeat. Those Blackwings had to wait until a fucking angel fathered a child. Twenty-one years later, they had a new warrior. The attack weakened them for two decades. Hopefully, the witches and warlocks had suffered as many or more losses.

Internally, I felt a surge of annoyance. I didn't have any delusional world-domination fantasies. My desires for power were much simpler: justice and equality for my fellow vampires. For centuries, we had been oppressed by those who believed themselves superior. All we wanted was to walk the streets without fear of persecution and death due to our nature. Of course, I wouldn't tell them any of this. Let them believe their lies.

"You have nothing to say to this?" Asasel's body posture became more aggressive and confrontational as he screamed at me, his face turning darker.

I stared back, wondering where this would lead to. Unfortunately, I had been captured too many times in my long undead life. Every one of those fuckers wanted something else: a lab rat for experiments, a punching ball for their aggression, a body they could rape, answers. What would it be this time?

"You bloody…"

Asasel took a step toward me and threw a punch. I instinctively blinked my eyes shut, waiting for the impact. The next moment, I heard the sound of skin connecting, but I felt no pain. Opening my eyelids, I saw that he held his hand inches before my face, Asasel's fist in it. He shook his head in the direction of his leader, then cocked it towards the door. Asasel's eyes turned dark; he pressed his lips together, ready to strike him. Puriel laid a hand on Asasel's shoulder and nodded. Fuming, he turned and stomped out of the room. The other two Nephilim shared a look and then walked out of my cell, not looking back at me.

When they were outside, I could see Asasel waiting for them. The door closed, but I was still able to hear them clearly.

"First, you disobeyed my orders before the fight, and now you humiliate me in front of the enemy? How dare you! I should have killed you for that!"

He just stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest and watched his leader calmly.

"Maybe this isn't the right place to discuss this." Puriel tilted her head in my direction. Asasel followed her movement with his eyes, and when he saw me, he nodded shortly before he stormed off. Puriel shared a worried look with him, and then both went after their leader, leaving me alone in the darkness.

I hung in my chains, my wrists aching from the weight of my body pulling on them. Sweat pooled at the back of my neck and dripped off my forehead, but I refused to break. After what felt like an eternity, it could be hours or days, a light flickered outside my cell door, followed by a thick clunk as the lock clicked open.

Puriel entered first with her tall, slender frame and eyes so dark they blended into her deep tan complexion. Her long black braid was tucked over one shoulder, and she appraised me with a hard look as her companion lingered behind her.

They were both wearing casual yet sombre attire, without any weapons. Of course, they had nothing to fear with me in chains. Anger was a wall of white noise in my ears as I watched them in their arrogance. How I’d rip them apart when the time came.

“What were your plans?” Puriel asked, her voice low and dangerous.

The pain in my upper body was beyond intolerable, but I didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me complain. I kept eye contact without saying a word.

“Who are your allies? Which demon are you answering to?”

My silence infuriated them both as she kept questioning me, but I refused to give in.

I blanked out her voice and looked at him instead. Of course, he was huge and muscled, like all Nephilim. His dark brown skin showed several small scars. He wore black stubble, and his thick black hair was short on top of the head and faded slowly towards the sides. Without wanting to, I had to confess to myself that he was a very handsome man. He watched me with calm determination, arms over his chest, and said nothing. His brown eyes were filled with hatred but also with sorrow. He had showered recently, and I had to admit that I liked this shower gel on him. It emphasised his masculine scent.

Puriel's voice droned on and on, grilling me with every question she could think of. She used every trick in the book, but I knew them all. I let the questions flow over me, not reacting to a single one.