Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (9 page)

He had shampoo in his eyes when the shower curtain eased back and Camille stepped in with him. She was naked; her sinuous body slinked against his like the twist of a snake. How she could be a holy angel looking like this, Clark would never understand. Her hands twined around his neck and pulled his lips to hers. She was relentless, and he was powerless to stop her. As she kissed him, her eyes stayed open, wide and apologetic. She would never say the words, but she tried to tell him—the best way she could—that she was sorry.

Sex with Camille was either a punishment or an act of forgiveness.

And Clark wasn’t too tired to accept.

Chapter Six

“C
lark.”

Clark was so exhausted that he didn’t dream when he fell asleep. Instead, he landed into unconsciousness with a heavy thud and a snore. It could have been a minute or a year that he was asleep. But deep in the hazy darkness of sleep, he recognized the voice saying his name. It was Sophia.

He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to recall the dream he must have been having. Slowly, he shifted his head against the pillow, rustling his half-dried hair. Camille lay beside him, her curves pressing soft and warm against him.

Clark’s throat tightened, and his stomach pitched. Camille didn’t have curves; the Throne angel had jutted angles and razor-sharp turns. She was a Formula 1 racecar; she certainly wasn’t warm and soft.

He turned his head farther. Camille’s back was to him, her strawberry blond hair spilling onto the pillow and his arm, like strands of silk across his skin. But Camille didn’t have strawberry blond hair, and the room was starting to roil beneath him as his anxiety built up. Something was wrong with this dream…

…Namely, he was awake.

The scent hit him then, wafting into his noise like a familiar brush across the lips. Sophia’s scent, like fresh cotton hanging out on line to dry in the summer sun. Sophia’s voice. The feel of Sophia’s body against his. They’d been together only one night—one amazing night—but he would never forget the way her skin moved against his, the way she called to him in the dark.

Clark bolted up in bed, flinging the sheets back and looking down the naked length of Sophia’s body. She was slender, but her curves still swelled in a way that had his mouth watering even now. Sleepily, she rolled over, looking up at him with her wide-set pretty eyes.

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “Say you love me,” she purred, shifting up against him, pressing those wicked curves to his bare chest.

His heart hammered; the words were in his mouth to answer her, natural and instinctual. But his brain yelled at him. Her hand slid up and over his shoulder, into his tousled hair. Her touch was agony. Something vital was breaking apart inside him. God, he’d missed her. He wanted nothing more than to curl up beside her and loose himself to whatever was happening right now.

“Will you say it, Clark?” she asked again, nearly begging as she rose up to kiss him.

“You’re dead,” Clark whispered. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he turned his mouth away from her. The pain splintered inside him and pressed against the confines of his skin, threatening to rip him apart. His eyes watered with tears; his voice cracked as he spoke, “I saw your body.”

Her eyes widened, filled with delicate tears to match his own. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

“No,” he said, his teeth clacking together as he began to shiver. He shoved out of bed, stumbling and tripping over the sheets that ripped at his legs. “No, you died.”

She followed him, crawling down the length of the bed, stalking him as he backed away, fear gripping his heart now too. His hip hit the desk, sending waves of pain down his body. He groped for a light switch but couldn’t find it. If he found the light, he reasoned, he would see things clearly, see it wasn’t really Sophia in the room with him.

Something bad was happening. Something Clark couldn’t control. Something as far from a dream as possible.

“Say it!” Sophia screamed. “Say you’ll love me.
Always
.”

“You’re dead!” Clark shouted back.

She slid off the bed, her pale body moving like moonlight across the floor. “But I’m alone, Clark. Please don’t make me be alone.”

“Get away from me!” He cringed back as she reached for him, his back slamming into the bedroom wall. He’d missed the door, and now she blocked it.

“Clark!” Sophia wailed. “What’s wrong with you?”

Something slammed inside the apartment. Clark surged forward, shoving Sophia away and running toward the bedroom door. He made it out as she screamed behind him, but his foot snagged on the ancient rug, sending him crashing face-first into the stone floor. He bit his lip, sending blood dripping down his throat. Sputtering and gasping for air, he crawled away, glancing over his shoulder.

From the darkness of the bedroom door came another deeper, thicker shadow. It laughed a low, building laugh that threaded up Clark’s spine and squeezed. The hairs along his arms stood on end. He knew that laugh.

Lucifer
.

If Clark looked close enough, he could see a form inside the bedroom, a shadow tucked into a shadow. It breathed; it was alive. Clark knew it was Lucifer, watching the nightmare come to life for Clark. Lucifer was doing this to him, and he was in the room with Clark. This was real.

The light came on.

Clark blinked into it, shielding his eyes from the glare.

“Clark?”

It was Zarachiel talking. Shivering uncontrollably, Clark glanced up at his friend, who stood in the apartment’s front door with a handful of other Descendants and even a few Nephilim. Camille hovered in the corner of his vision, her blond hair twisted around her face, a sheet wrapped tightly around her naked body. She looked between him and the people in the door, their eyes settling accusingly on her. Their secret was out now.

Clark glanced back at the corner, but Lucifer was gone. The shadows were harmless now.

“What happened?” Liam asked, shoving into the apartment. He quickly drew the same conclusion as everyone else had, his eyes slashing to the Throne angel. “What did you do?”

“Are you serious?” Camille growled. “How dare you!”

“Wait!” Clark said from the floor. Only when everyone turned to look at him did he notice he was naked. He covered himself with a dusty pillow from the couch before he stood up. “Wait. She didn’t do anything. I had a bad dream.”

The expression on his face must have been proof enough because Liam said, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh…” Clark couldn’t handle the accuracy of that statement. He didn’t know exactly what he’d seen or felt or heard, but he knew for a fact that it wasn’t a dream. A dream couldn’t be that real. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” Liam said hesitantly, his eyes flicking back to Camille quickly before he turned to go. “Meeting in half an hour.”

“Sure thing. Zarachiel, wait!” Clark called when the angel turned to leave. Everyone looked back at him, their eyes roving between him and the angels. “I, uh, need you to look at some…seed.”

Clark cringed at the word choice. The silence in the room stretched out, crossing far into awkward territory. Clark shifted, making the floorboards creak and groan beneath him.

“Sure,” Zarachiel said evenly. He turned to get the front door, effectively ushering everyone else out.

When they were alone in the room, Clark slouched into the ancient couch, sending up dust balls and must into the air. He put his head in his hands.

“What the hell was that?” Camille demanded.

But Clark couldn’t answer. He heard Lucifer’s laugh, and his stomach twisted in fear again. If he was still enough, he could smell the same metallic scent in the air that he’d smelled in Jenna’s room.

“What happened?” Zarachiel asked Camille when it was obvious Clark wasn’t ready to speak yet.

“I don’t know! He woke up and started freaking out. He shoved me and screamed that I was dead.”

Clark felt their eyes on him, knew they were waiting for an explanation, but it was one he couldn’t give. The couch sank down a bit more as Zarachiel took a seat next to him. Camille took the spot on Clark’s other side.

“Clark?” Zarachiel asked cautiously, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m here.”

“What was that? I’ve never seen you look like that before.” Camille’s voice was the most comforting he’d ever heard from her. It nearly shocked him out of his stupor when she put a hand on his other shoulder, massaging the tense muscles. He looked up at her, then over to Zarachiel.

“I saw Sophia.” Deep lines formed between Zarachiel’s brows as Clark spoke. He turned to Camille. “She was lying in bed with me, and I felt her, felt her warmth. She spoke to me in her voice. She even smelled like her.”

“It was just a really bad dream?” Camille said, saying the words like a question.

“No. It was more than that.”

“What makes you say that?” Zarachiel questioned next.

“Because I saw him! He was standing right there.” Clark pointed as he spoke; everyone looked at the empty corner. “I heard his laugh, I know it. He was playing a twisted joke on me, and he wanted to watch.”

“Who, Clark?” Zarachiel asked.

“Lucifer.”

Silence filled the room. No one spoke. Clark looked between the two angels, but they were both extremely still. Sitting between them, the fear from earlier was long gone, and he could recall the incident with ease. He knew that was Lucifer’s laugh, he knew it with every fiber in his being.

“You’re certain?” Zarachiel asked.

“Yes! I know it!”

“Okay,” Camille said. “Okay. Okay. Okay…”

Her voice was worried—and rightfully so. The devil was supposed to be dead. They really, really needed him to be dead.

“Did you actually see his body disintegrate in that fire?”

When Clark had been in Hell, he and Lucifer had worked to learn the magic contained on Clark’s arms. During one incident, Clark had started a holy fire that grew out of control. The magic had coursed through him, taking control of him, using him. It had made that fire hotter and hotter, bigger and bigger. The flames had sung to Lucifer, like a siren to a sailor. The fallen angel had stepped into the heat, knowing what it would do to him. Lucifer hadn’t been evil back then; he’d just been an angel who’d landed on the wrong side of fate. He wanted it to end, needed it to. Clark couldn’t keep the fire from Lucifer as he’d walked into his death.

“Most of it,” Clark answered Zarachiel’s question, knowing where the angel was going. “I didn’t think there was any way for him to survive that. The flames were literally tearing him apart. There was nothing left.”

“But did you stick around to make sure?”

Clark shook his head. “By then, the fire was so powerful that it was pulling me in too. The only reason I survived was because Gabriel risked his life to come in and get me. It exploded shortly after. And I blacked out.”

Camille looked around him to Zarachiel. “What does this mean? Can Lucifer contest Gabriel’s reign?”

Clark groaned, sinking his head back down again. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Shit,” he whispered.

“He’s Lucifer. He’s going to do whatever he pleases,” Zarachiel said, the venom unfamiliar in his voice. “But maybe he’s not really alive. Maybe it was just his spirit or something.”

Clark looked up. “Like I’m haunted or some shit?”

“That would be a lot better than him actually being alive,” Camille said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Can you imagine the havoc he could cause? If those rogue fallen angels and demons know their leader is still alive? Lucifer could start a whole new war. There’s no way we would all survive another.”

Camille’s logic was horrifyingly accurate. “No, I know,” Clark said. “It’s just being haunted by Lucifer isn’t exactly what I had planned for my life.”

Zarachiel’s mouth twitched. “And this is?”

“True.”

“We need to figure out if angels can…uh, haunt people, or whatever. Who would know something like that?”

Clark sighed heavily. They all knew the answer already. “Probably the person who figured out how to kill an angel to begin with.”

“Who’s also the Angel of Death.”

“Michaela,” Clark said heavily. “So who’s going to volunteer to die so that we can get her attention?”

* * *

Clark dodged a well-aimed flick of holy water from the evil priest. The stooped man must have heard about Clark’s episode earlier today because the drop of holy water was more like a hose-down, as if the priest believed Clark needed an exorcism. Either way, the two men glared at each other, damning the other in his own way.

“That man is sadistic,” Clark muttered to Liam when the proceedings were over and the members were shuffling out.

“I swear,” Liam said, “he aims for my damn eye every time.”

“It’s disgusting. Where the hell does that water come from? Medusa’s twat?”

Liam almost choked on his laugh. His eyes watered from trying to repress it so they wouldn’t draw the attention of the other members, who were quietly talking amongst themselves as they filed out the door. The Nephilim and Ezekiel were notably absent from the meeting. Clark was relieved, but he knew it didn’t bode well.