Page 19 of Wings of Lies
“You think someone tortured me?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus?”
Oliver pulled his hand back. “I wouldn’t put it past him. But your scars aren’t fresh. If he did torture you, it was a while ago.”
I sighed, sliding his sweater down, and turned back around. I’m glad I didn’t remember my torture, but I wished I knew who did it and why.
“Is thereany wayto tell a Nephilim and an angel apart?” I asked.
He rubbed his thumb over the black tattoo on his wrist, sinking further into the side of the bed with each pass.
“Angels usually have more power, seeing as Nephilim are half-human and inherit a lower dose of power from their fathers.”
“What about their mothers? Do they give their children power?”
“Female angels can’t be mothers. It’s not possible for them to have kids with humans or their species. It’s against creation, or so I was told. Whatever that means.”
Did that make me a Nephilim?But from the memory of my mother’s eyes flashing purple and power forcing me outside of our house, I didn’t think she was human.So what did that mean?
“What’s your power?” I asked, curious about what he could do.
We sat in silence as he bit his lip. “Let’s just say my deadbeat dad didn’t give me anything pleasant. Although”—he perked up a bit—“I don’t mind the lusceler or what we call super speed, fast healing, or immortality. Guess that makes up for whatever relationship we never had.”
“You’re immortal?” I gaped. “How old are you?”
His smile turned wicked.
“I turned one hundred a few months back.”
“No, you’re not one hundred.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“No—you look?—”
He interrupted. “We get to choose when to stop aging. I chose 27. Anyone with angel blood has the ability. Well, except the Fallen. They lose it when their wings are ripped out. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“Anyone with angel blood?” I squeaked.
Excitement twinkled in his emeralds, accompanying the sly tilt of his lip. “Yes. Which does, in fact, include you.”
“What?”What else was I forgetting?
Oliver blabbed about immortality and all its amazing perks, but I wasn’t listening. Because as important as all this information was, there was something I needed to know above anything else. “Where’s Elora?” I interrupted.
He fell silent.
“That’s the place. Where she told me I needed to go. Where is it?”
His head fell back against the bed. He heaved a sigh, staring at the ceiling.
“Is it close?”
“Yes and no.”
“Explain,” I demanded again, impatient.
