Page 72 of The Nephilim's Finesse

“No way, you’re not going alone.” Puriel’s voice held no room for arguing, so I just nodded. They would learn of my secret and my betrayal sooner rather than later.

21 Victorija

The demon attack in Soho was all over the news, so it was no surprise when—the following evening—one of my subordinate vampires informed me that Nephilim were approaching my house. I sat in the former drawing room of my townhouse that I inherited from Lady Greenwood, one of the few accommodations that wasn't smeared with blood or destroyed during a fight the last few months. Decades ago, I had this room combined with the adjoining room, resulting in a huge lounge for more than forty people. The furniture was a mix of the centuries-old chaise longues and modern sofas, the candles replaced by electric ones. I fancied the flickering light more than the bright, industrial ones. While one of my vampires opened the door for the Nephilim, I sat down on the chaise longue and smoothed out my skirt. I shot a warning look at the vampires present, and they retreated to the walls. I wanted them as assurance that the Nephilim wouldn't overpower me and take me as a prisoner again but weren't to interfere unless absolutely necessary.

The room was silent when Raph, Azariel, Mike, Nate, and Puriel arrived. Their collective presence loomed like a dark cloud as they stood on my doorstep, each one of them emanating a different energy. I could feel the weight of their gazes, the invisible threads of tension weaving through the air.

"Come in," I said sharply, gesturing to let them enter my home, knowing that this conversation would determine the future of many.

After I had made the mistake of not knowing who Raph was when he captured me, I had dossiers made on each of the Nephilim. As they filed into the dimly lit living room, I took a moment to study each one of them. Azariel, tall and regal, her long brown hair framing her amber eyes; her partner Andrew kidnapped by Eldred’s minions to get me back. Mike, with his blond curls and mischievous blue eyes, whose girlfriend Charlie was kidnapped along with her brother. Nate, the father of the hybrid child, was warm and affectionate despite his intimidating appearance, and Puriel, her golden-brown skin glowing beneath the soft light, her long braid swinging behind her, had the ungrateful task of cleaning up the mess the vampires caused. They all had good reasons to hate me, yet here they were, ready to find a solution to stop the demons. And finally, Raph, with his rich brown skin and dark eyes, studied me intensely.

"Victorija," Raph greeted me, his deep voice barely above a whisper. "We've come to talk," he said, his voice a low rumble.

I sniffed the air and frowned, smelling fear—not from the Nephilim, but from my vampires, and subconsciously, my lips curled back from sharp fangs. The tension in the room thickened as my vampires turned, casting assessing gazes on the Nephilim and getting ready to jump.

Puriel, Nate, and Mike bristled, hands drifting to the hilts of their swords. Only Azariel remained calm beside them, though her eyes were wary.

"Well?" I said, crossing one leg over the other. "You're here now. Talk."

There was an undeniable undercurrent of animosity between our two groups, and I knew it wouldn't be easily overcome. Raph's obsidian eyes caught the light as he focused on me. "The demon attacks are escalating."

"I'm aware," I said dryly, as if I hadn't noticed the surge of chaos and violence rippling through the city. However, I wondered if Raph wanted something more than to stop the demon attacks.

"Then you know we must act now." Puriel’s gaze was intense, simmering.

My heart thundered in my chest as I looked at Raph, his fierce brown eyes meeting mine with equal intensity.

"We need your help," Raph said loud and clear.

I crossed my arms, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. "You think you can just come waltzing in here as if the past never happened? As if you didn't hold me prisoner?"

He shook his head lightly. “You know we can’t change the past. We have to move on.” A ghost of a smile curved Raph's lips, and he leant forward. "You’ll help us because you know you want to stop these attacks."

A shiver ran down my spine at his words. Damn him. He was right. I gritted my teeth, glaring at him. "You seem awfully confident for someone in my territory."

Raph chuckled, the sound rolling through me like thunder. "I have every reason to be confident around you, Victorija."

Heat bloomed on my cheeks, and I bared my fangs as a warning. How dare he imply—

"Enough." Azariel stepped forward, her eyes glowing with determination. "We don't have time for your petty squabbles." She looked between us, irritation etched into her features. "We need to work together if we want to defeat the demons overrunning this city."

I sighed, dropping my gaze. She was right. As much as I hated to admit it, we needed the Nephilim.

Valentino moved behind me and leaned over the backrest. Carefully, he removed my hair from my ear to whisper, “No other Blackwings are outside.” I had him check for backups, just in case.

I looked up at Raph, his dark eyes holding mine for a moment, and I could see the emotions swirling within him—concern, jealousy, and something deeper, maybe hurt? The weight of my conflicted feelings pressed against my chest, making breathing difficult. He stepped forward and took my hand, pulling me out of my seat. I felt my subjects move towards us, ready to fight. Holding up my free hand, I halted them. I knew that Raph didn’t want to harm me, and I was curious about what he was about to do.

"Enough," Raph's voice boomed, drawing everyone's attention. "I can’t stand idly by any longer."

His words hung in the air like a storm cloud about to burst. The room fell silent, and I felt my pulse quicken as I wondered what was going to happen next. My heart pounded as Raph pulled me even closer, our bodies touching. His scent, lavender and something deeper, darker, enveloped me for a brief moment. The memory of our last encounter flashed through my mind, and heat crept up my neck. I gritted my teeth, shoving the thought away.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation. But deep down, I knew exactly what he wanted.

His eyes bore into mine, dark and intense. "You're mine, Victorija," he said, his voice dripping with possessiveness. He pressed me to him, his eyes never leaving mine. "I want you as my own again, and I won't let anything or anyone stand in our way."

My mind raced as I considered my response. Part of me longed to give in to his desire, to be claimed by Raph once more. But another part of me, the part that had been hardened by centuries of cruelty and hunger for power, resisted.

Heat flushed through me at his words, arousal and anger warring within. "I don't belong to anyone, least of all you."

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