carport, and Scott swung out. Like most Nephilim men, Scott has the body of someone seemingly well acquainted with a weight room. He’s also unusually tall, pushing six feet six. He keeps his hair cropped as short as a prison inmate’s, and he’s good-looking—in a tough, hardened way. Today he was wearing mesh basketball shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.
Vee fanned herself. “Yowza.”
I stuck my hand in the air, intending to call out to Scott and flag his attention, when the Barracuda’s passenger door opened and Dante emerged.
“Check it out,” Vee said. “It’s Dante. Do the math. Two of them, and two of us. I knew I’d like running.”
“I’m feeling the sudden urge to keep running,” I muttered. And not stop until I’d put a lot of ground between me and Dante. I wasn’t in the mood to follow up last night’s conversation. Likewise, I wasn’t in the mood for Vee to play matchmaker. She was too aggravatingly good at it.
“Too late. We’ve been made.” Vee whipped her arm over her head like a helicopter propeller.
Sure enough, Scott and Dante leaned back against the Barracuda, shaking their heads and grinning at us.
“You stalking me, Grey?” Scott hollered.
“He’s all yours,” I told Vee. “I’m going to finish running.”
“What about Dante? He’ll feel like the third wheel,” she said.
“It’ll be good for him, trust me.”
“Where’s the fire, Grey?” Scott called out, and to my dismay, he and Dante started jogging over.
“I’m training,” I shot back. “I’m thinking about . . . trying out for track.”
“Track doesn’t start until spring,” Vee reminded me.
Hang it all.
“Uh-oh, heart rate’s dropping,” I yelled at Scott. And on that note, I took off running in the opposite direction.
I heard Scott on the trail behind me. A minute later, he snagged the strap of my tank top, tugging on it playfully. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I turned to face him. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you and Vee came over to see me under the pretense of running.”
I gave his shoulder a congratulatory pat. “Good work, ace.”
“So why are you running away? And why does Vee smell like a perfume factory?”
I stayed quiet, letting him figure it out.
“Ah,” he said at last.
I spread my hands. “My work here is done.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I’m ready to hang out with Vee all day. She’s pretty . . . intense.”
Before I could give him the sage advice, “Fake it till you make it,” Dante pulled up beside me.
“A word with you?” he asked.
“Oh boy,” I said under my breath.
“That’s my cue to go,” Scott said, and to my discouragement, he trotted away, leaving me alone with Dante.
“Can you run and talk at the same time?” I asked Dante, thinking I’d prefer not to have to look him in the eye while he rehashed his thoughts on our jury-rigged relationship. Plus, it spoke volumes about just how into this conversation I was.
By way of answer, Dante picked up his pace, jogging beside me.
“Glad to see you out running,” he said.
“And why’s that?” I panted, shoving some loose hairs off my sweat-soaked face. “You get a thrill out of seeing me a complete mess?”
“That, and it’s good training for what I have in store for you.”
“You have something in store for me? Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to hear more?”
“You may be Nephilim now, Nora, but you’re at a disadvantage. Unlike naturally conceived Nephilim, you don’t have the advantage of extreme height, and you aren’t as physically powerful.”
“I’m a lot stronger than you think,” I argued.
“Stronger than you
“Now that’s flattery.”
“I could tell you what I think you want to hear, instead of what you need to hear, but would I really be your friend then?”
“Why do you think you need to tell me any of this?”
“You’re not prepared to fight. You don’t stand a chance against a fallen angel. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’m confused. Why do I need to fight? I thought I made it clear repeatedly yesterday that there isn’t going to be a war. I’m leading the Nephilim to peace.” And keeping the archangels off my back. Patch and I had decided unequivocally that enraged Nephilim made a better enemy than the all-powerful archangels. It was evident that Dante wanted to go into battle, but we disagreed. And as leader of the Nephilim army, the decision was ultimately mine. I felt like Dante was undermining me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
He stopped, catching me by the wrist so he could look straight at me. “You can’t control everything that happens from here on out,” he said quietly, and a chill of foreboding slipped through me like I’d swallowed an ice cube. “I know you think I’ve got it out for you, but I promised Hank I’d look after you. I’ll tell you one thing. If war breaks out, or even a riot, you won’t make it. Not in your current state. If something happens to you and you’re unable to lead the army, you’ll have broken your oath, and you know what that means.”
Oh, I knew what it meant, all right. Jumping into my own grave. And dragging my mom in behind me.
“I want to teach you enough skills to get by, as a precaution,” Dante said. “That’s all I’m suggesting.”
I swallowed. “You think if I train with you, I can get to the point where I’ll be strong enough to handle myself.” Against fallen angels, sure. But what about the archangels? I’d promised to halt the rebellion. Training for battle wasn’t aligned with that goal.
“I think it’s worth a shot.”
The idea of war turned my stomach into a bundle of knots, but I didn’t want to show fear in front of Dante. He already thought I couldn’t handle myself. “So which is it? Are you my pseudo boyfriend or my personal trainer?”
His mouth twitched. “Both.”
CHAPTER 3
WHEN VEE DROPPED ME OFF AFTER RUNNING, there were two missed calls on my cell phone. The first was from Marcie Millar, my sometimes arch-nemesis and, as fate would have it, my half sister by blood, but not by love. I’d spent the past seventeen years having no knowledge that the girl who stole my chocolate milk in elementary school and adhered feminine pads to my school locker in junior high shared my DNA. Marcie had figured out the truth first, and flung it in my face. We had an unspoken contract not to discuss our relationship publicly, and for the most part, the knowledge hadn’t changed us any. Marcie was still a spoiled anorexic airhead, and I still spent a good portion of my waking hours watching my back, wondering what humiliation scheme she’d launch at me next.
Marcie hadn’t left a message, and I couldn’t guess what she’d want from me, so I moved to the next missed call. Unknown number. The voice mail consisted of controlled breathing, low and masculine, but no actual words. Maybe Dante, maybe Patch. Maybe Pepper Friberg. My personal number was listed, and with a little investigative spirit, Pepper could have tracked it down. Not the most reassuring of thoughts.
I hauled out my piggy bank from under my bed, removed the rubber cheat plug, and shook out seventy-five dollars. Dante was picking me up at five tomorrow morning for wind sprints and weight lifting, and after one
