21

“Nero,” I said, struggling to keep my words civil. “I don’t need another lecture about proper procedures.”

“You can’t drink that,” he replied, undeterred by my icy tone. “If you do, it will kill you. It’s the gods’ Nectar, concentrated. It’s the most potent stuff they have. It’s what the gods themselves drink. It won’t just make you an angel, it will essentially make you a god.”

“And?”

“And within the week, it will kill you,” he added definitively.

I glanced over at Harker, whose mouth thinned into a stubborn line. But beyond that stubbornness lay a hint of something else: guilt.

“So it’s true,” I said.

“The Nectar of the gods is pure magic,” replied Harker. “What we soldiers of the Legion drink in the ceremonies is only a diluted version of the real thing. The first dose has only a drop of the Nectar. With each successive level, the dose is more potent. Until you get to this.” He pointed at the vial.

Nero gave him a hard look. “Only an angel of the highest level can drink this and survive.”

“Why would you give this to me?” I asked Harker.

He didn’t answer.

Nero answered for him. “Because he was told to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harker has been taking his orders from a god,” said Nero. “Earlier today, I followed whispers of a plot to kill you. Only I didn’t find what I expected. This god doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to use you to find your brother. A telepath.” He paused. “That is your secret.”

Now I was the one not talking.

Nero’s eyes slid over to Harker, his voice dropping to dangerous levels. “You like her. Really like her. I know you do. And you are trading her for your wings.”

I swallowed the taste of betrayal, and it burned the whole way down. “You were promised wings?” I asked Harker. I couldn’t even look at him.

“I was.”

“How long?” I growled. “How long were you playing me?”

“It wasn’t like that, Leda. I do like you.”

I wasn’t interested in platitudes, only answers. “How long?”

“Since you joined.”

“That’s why you were helping me,” I realized, laughing bitterly. “You needed to get me strong enough.”

“You needed the gods’ first gift before you could take this without dying instantly.” His gaze flickered to the vial in my hands. “But I don’t think you’d die in a week.”

“A month then?” I snapped.

“Isn’t that what you were willing to do, to risk your life to save your brother?” he asked. “And, for the record, drinking the Nectar wouldn’t have killed you.”

I couldn’t guess if he really believed those words. And I wouldn’t try to. Apparently, I had the worst lie detector on the planet.

But Nero sure wasn’t buying it. “That Nectar kills anyone below level ten,” he told Harker. “It would kill me.”

“You didn’t see how fast she healed, Nero. And remember how she took right to the second dose of Nectar. There’s something about her. She’s different. My god told me as much. He guaranteed me that she wouldn’t die.”

“You used me.” I hurled the words in his face and hoped they hurt him more than they hurt me. I was petty that way. “You pretended to care about me.”

“I didn’t pretend.”

“You used me for your own personal gain. I will not help you enslave my brother.”

With that said, I threw the vial to the floor. The glass shattered, and the fluid spilled out, quickly losing its shimmer.

“It is the will of the gods,” Harker told me. “There’s no way around it.”

“It is not the will of the gods. It is the will of one god, a play he’s making,” Nero said.

“Do you know which god?” I asked him.

“No.” That appeared to annoy him to no end. “But I will find out and then report this to the Council of Gods.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Harker told us.

“No. You don’t know who you are messing with.” I punched him in the face.

It was a good punch, fast, crisp, powerful—but it never would have gotten through Harker’s defenses if he hadn’t been gazing wistfully at the liquid evaporating at my feet. As Harker straightened to fight back, Nero shot him with a tranquilizer much bigger than the ones we’d used on the vampires. Harker took a single, staggered step forward, then collapsed unconscious to the floor.

“I had it,” I told Nero as he bound Harker’s hands and feet.

“No offense, Pandora, but one lucky punch does not make you ready to take on a seventh level soldier of the Legion.”

“He’s still weak from the last fight,” I pointed out.

“And so are you.”

“I don’t like the way you argue.”

He arched a single eyebrow at me. “With logic?”

“Exactly.”

He gave me a funny look.

“What?”

“Harker was right about you,” he said. “You are different. Special. There’s an energy about you. I can’t explain it.”

There wasn’t anything to explain—or anything special about me, just my stubborn will to save my brother and to protect those I loved.

“What are you going to do?” I asked quietly. “About me?”

“You mean, am I going to report you and tell the Legion what your brother is?”

I nodded mutely.

“Obviously you don’t know me very well.”

I looked down at Harker. “I didn’t know him very well.”

“I am not Harker,” Nero said, setting his hands on my shoulders. “I told you everyone joins the Legion for a reason. His was power. And the need for order. He wanted to be an angel. And he couldn’t say no to a god’s command.”

“And you?”

Nero grunted. “I already am an angel. And I say no to commands far too often for my own good. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” I set my hands over his, squeezing them in appreciation. “I don’t know how long this will last. One of the gods already knows about Zane. How long before he tells the others?”

“He won’t. The gods play their power games with one another as much as they do with the demons. They are always trying to get the upper hand over the others. This god, whoever he is, obviously wants to use your brother as a weapon, to strengthen his position against the others.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because if all the gods knew, they would already be looking for your brother. And you wouldn’t be standing here.”

“I’d be tied up, being tortured for information.”

“Yes.”

I laughed. It was a hard laugh, full of sorrow and desperation. Not that I was taken aback by his bluntness. I guess I’d gotten used to it. I’d even started to appreciate it. Not that I was going to admit that to Nero. There was no need to issue him an open invitation to torture me.

“If the gods don’t have Zane—and the demons don’t have him—then who does?” I asked Nero.

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “But we are going to find out.”