Lucca (11 page)

Lucca turned away, retching. His father
backhanded him for his insolence and told him he’d have to lick up
the puke from the street if it happened a next time. All he could
think was
the next time
. He’d have to witness more of the
same useless deaths. His father never gave idle threats. He meant
what he said. When you licked up enough of your bile, you learned
to keep it down.

Their little outings to the riverbank were
meant to toughen him up. To belittle human life as nothing more
than smashing a bug from time to time, but Arizul’s real test was
yet to come.

The bastard got off on inflicting pain,
mental pain and physical. Lucca didn’t understand why his father
went through the formalities of giving him a test. Why not just
start the day with breakfast … beating … lunch … beating ... and so
on. Being virtually immortal, he healed fast with no lingering
effects—at least not what anyone could see.

His second test of endurance in the human
realm was to make no contact verbally or physically, even if a
human asked him a question. He was to walk away. He couldn’t use
glamour like his father yet and hide from the masses. Nephilim
didn’t mature until they hit puberty, which could be anywhere from
ten years old to nineteen years of age. Wings would sprout from the
nubs on the back. At birth, they looked like winged birthmarks, but
as the Nephilim grew so did the nubs, looking more like bony
growths. They were easily hidden until the
Awakening
. The
Awakening involved three days of agony before the wings grew to
their splendor. It took another few days to learn how to control
the glamour and the ability to shift from human to angel.

One particular test of endurance, his father
forced upon him, stood out in his mind over the others. His father
dragged him to town during market time. No matter how hard he tried
to keep his gaze averted so not to strike up a conversation,
something would ultimately draw his attention and he was doomed for
a night of punishment, but this particular day had proved the worst
day of his life.

He saved a young female from being trampled
by a horse. His instinct kicked in before he could rein it back.
His quick reflexes had him sprinting. Even at eleven, he was larger
than human males and stronger. He swept the girl into his arms,
leaping to safety as dirt and debris hit them when the horse flew
by.

Lying sprawled on the ground, his gaze
wavered over the girl in his hands. Reddish strands of hair haloed
her freckled face and luminous green eyes stared up at him in awe.
Her small fragile hand touched his cheek, the warmth of her
fingertips a caress of kindness he had never felt before. She took
his hand in her small one. “You’re hurt.”

He looked down at the scrape on the top of
his hand. It was nothing, it barely bled, but the girl was
concerned for him. She raised his hand to her mouth and placed a
kiss over the wound as if her caress would heal him. “Thank you,
angel,” she whispered. Had she known he was one of the Nephilim?
Before he could question her, the girl’s mother threw herself at
him, praising him for his brave actions.

He smiled, loving the way the woman fawned
over him, but then his gaze found his father’s. The murderous
expression creased Arizul’s brow and narrowed his eyes to slits.
Lucca pushed away from the mother and ran.

His father didn’t say anything on their trek
home, but every step had been agony as he imagined what his father
would do to him. As it turned out, his imagination hadn’t even
begun to conjure up what his punishment would be.

With his upper body stripped bare, his
father made him face the wall. He clasped chains on his wrists and
ankles that were bolted to the stone. The room was located beneath
their living quarters where no one would hear his cries for help.
His father whipped him until blood pooled at his feet and his
throat turned raw from his screams. When his father released the
chains, he thought it was over, his body going limp as he landed on
his knees.

“Get up.” His father’s cold voice
commanded.

He raised his tear stained eyes to look at
him, his throat too sore to plead for mercy, not that it would help
in anyway. His father never gave quarter.

“Get up or I’ll yank you up by your hair,
you sniveling half-human scum. Crying and screaming like a human
baby. You disgust me.”

Lucca grabbed hold of the chains dangling at
his cheek. He pulled himself up with what strength he could fathom.
Once on his feet, his father slammed him against the wall in a
chokehold. The pain of his raw back scraping against the stone
nearly made him lose consciousness. He wished it had.

Arizul secured his limbs again, before
backing away, waiting. Finally, Lucca had the courage to look at
his father, catching sight of the whip in his father’s hand. It
wasn’t over. His stomach lurched, making him want to retch, but he
swallowed the bile. If he looked weak, if he screamed, he feared
the beating would never end. The whip came down again and again,
ripping away skin, but he bit his lip to keep from screaming.
Finally, blackness took hold.

Three days later, the Watchers’ physician
told him he barely survived. Until then, he didn’t know the Fallen
could be killed.

His father never took him to town again and
the punishments were never as severe. Lucca suspected one of the
Watchers threatened his father to keep him in line.

Lucca learned to keep out of his father’s
way, finding ways to help out at the Watcher’s stronghold. He kept
to his own kind too, staying clear of humans.

His Awakening happened in his eighteenth
year. He thought maybe it would never happen, that his father had
somehow damaged him, but when he shifted, his wingspread surpassed
most Nephilim’s length. The feathers were dark, shades of gray and
a midnight blue.

He worked hard and became a warrior for his
own self worth and the ability to at least put up a good fight if
his father came at him. In battle, he learned humans were
irrational beings as his father had always claimed. Their choices
would sooner send them running head long into doom than save them.
He didn’t see the point in befriending them when their lives were
like a brief whisper of time, but then he met Christopher
Marlowe.

Lucca closed his eyes, the past overwhelming
him with emotions he thought he put to rest. Why was he dredging it
up now? He inhaled deeply and nearly gagged. The air around him
smelled foul as if his thoughts conjured his father’s vileness. His
eyes snapped open, looking toward the shadows, half expecting to
see his father standing there.

He shook his head. “I cannot do this.” He
rose to his feet bent on fleeing the Amphitheater and leaving
Juliet Romeo to her own devices, but he spotted her at the foot of
the stage. She turned and her gaze found his. Those lovely green
eyes held him still as if pleading for him not to go. Her hair
bounced as she walked toward him, the sun-kissed strands shimmering
like burnished copper from the light illuminating from the
lamplights positioned behind them.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance;
pray, love, remember…
The quote from
Hamlet
trailed away
like a whisper. “The young girl.” He realized why his thoughts had
wavered to the past. Juliet reminded him of the young girl he’d
saved. A young girl, who kissed him and called him angel. He knew
Juliet couldn’t be the child, but her coloring, her gentle touches
had triggered the memory of a sweet girl’s caress.

Juliet took the steps to the top row, where
he stood like a gaping fool. Rosemary, mint, and sweet sunshine
filled his senses, cleansing the negative thoughts from his
mind.

“I’m about finished here. I just have to
pack up a few things. Do you still want to wait?”

“As long as it takes,” he heard himself say
and wondered what possessed him to say those words. He needed to go
before this—whatever this was sprouting between them—took root and
flourished. It would only end badly. It was better to stop it now
before she ended up hurt.

Her lips spread into a smile lighting her
eyes to softer green.

God, she had a beautiful smile. His hand
went to his chest where his heart truly beat for the first
time.

“Good. I’ll make it quick.” She turned and
headed down the stairs, her steps a little lighter than before.

“You’re an eegit,” he drew out a breath of
disgust for his lack of will when it came to Juliet, but he waited
there like an obedient puppy until she motioned she was ready to
go.

Juliet locked up the gates to the
amphitheater. Her long graceful fingers pushed her jacket sleeve up
her arm so she could glance at her watch. “It’s later than I
thought.”

He didn’t want her to go home yet. Panic
assailed him, a rush causing his chest to tighten. “We’ll have
dinner, that’s it,” he hurried to say, ignoring all his earlier
thoughts of ending this.
She’s human. You don’t like humans.
Remember, you spent lifetimes perfecting your dislike.
He kept
reminding himself of the fact, but every time his gaze met
Juliet’s, the conviction fell short.

“Just dinner,” she said, as if to convince
herself their newfound friendship wouldn’t go any farther, too. “I
promised Owen’s babysitter I’d be home no later than eleven
thirty.”

His lips curved. “I won’t hold you hostage.”
Before he could suggest a place for dinner, she volunteered.

“There’s a restaurant in walking distance
from here. It’s small, but the food’s really good.”

He didn’t care as long as she didn’t go
home. “Lead the way, milady.” He swept his hand in front of
him.

Her gaze riveted to his, her brows
furrowing. Before he could ask what was the matter, the puckering
between her brows smoothed away and she smiled. “It’s this
way.”

They walked side by side down Main Street.
Her hands were shoved in her jacket. Her long fine strands flowed
loose behind her as the light breeze teased them. Old buildings
from the early twentieth century lined either side of the street,
renovated for the new businesses.

“How did you become interested in
Shakespeare?”

“Hmm?” It took him a moment to realize she
asked him a question. “How did… I like to read.” He shrugged. He
couldn’t tell her he met Will in a tavern, scribbling on whatever
he could get his hands on. The man’s fingernails were black from
the ink and his clothes a bit disheveled, but the light in his eyes
told him the man had a real talent. All he needed was a little push
in the right direction.

“You like to read. That’s it?” Her finely
shaped brow arched.

Would she think him a pansy if he told her
the truth? Probably, but what the hell. “Wil… Shakespeare’s words
were like magic to me, an incantation to transport my tired soul to
another realm.”

She glanced at him then and he turned away,
feeling like an eegit for revealing something he never shared with
anyone. If he were prone to blushing, his skin would have turned
every shade of red.

“That’s exactly how I feel.” Her voice
lowered, thick with emotion. He looked at her now, meeting her
beautiful eyes. He had the urge to pull her against him, wrap his
arms around her, and never let her go. He cleared his throat and
shook his head, trying madly to clear his thoughts of such a
ridiculous notion. “What about you, Miss Romeo? How did Shakespeare
come to be a part of your life? Hmm? Let me guess.” He tapped his
chin for effect. “Your parents were Shakespeare fanatics and their
enthusiasm spilled over to you.”

Her rose-colored lips slid into a smile that
set his heart beating like a bat wishing to be free of its
confines. How did she do that with a mere look and without glamour
to aid her? Was she part Fae? A witch? Whatever the case, she must
have casted a spell over him, like a net to capture her prey. Only
he didn’t want to struggle to be free.

“Actually, Juliet is a family name on my
mother’s side. I’m sure my parents thought it was cute to give me
the name to go with my father’s infamous last name.”

Her voice was seamlessly smooth without a
hitch as she told the story, but she didn’t quite meet his
gaze.

The story was made up. He was sure of it,
but why? Perhaps the true story embarrassed her and she didn’t
trust him with the truth. He felt a pang of disappointment.

“You wouldn’t by chance be a very distant
relation to
the
Christopher Marlowe?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I believe as the family story
goes we changed our name in honor of the playwright.” He partially
told the truth.

Juliet slowed her pace. “This is it.” She
waved her hand at the restaurant they stood in front of with the
ramp leading to the door, an added feature no doubt to accommodate
wheelchair access.

He stared at the bold writing on the window:
Doug’s Downtown Grill. They were on Main Street in the Historic
Garden Grove district and if he hadn’t been so enamored with
Juliet, he would have realized where she was taking him. “I went
willy-nilly without a fuss too,” he cursed under his breath.

“Did you say something?” Juliet’s brows drew
together over the bridge of her lovely upturned nose.

Yeah, there’s something the matter. This
is Eli’s hang out. You know the one who had me banished to the
human realm for trying to kill him.
“Are you sure this place is
good?” His gaze met hers with a hopeful glint to persuade her to
choose another location, preferably one where Watchers didn’t
frequent.

She took the steps that separated them and
looped her arm through his, leading him toward the door. “It’s the
best.”

Maybe Eli wouldn’t be in there. He had a
mate now. Wouldn’t they eat at home, maybe before a roaring fire
with candles lit and the fireplace burning?
You are such a
Nancy.