Sliding the tray through the hole in the cell door, I snatch my hand back as a stone claw comes through and seizes it. Grumbling, I throw the now empty trolley into the storage cupboard. Why the fuck am I being a maid again? Oh, that’s right, my mate has a plan.
I should have just grabbed her and got her out of here when I had the chance, but she distracted me with her logic and boobs and now I’m stuck serving all the crazy fucking monsters and criminals the council keeps down here. It’s taken me over a day to do my section and exhaustion is settling in, so I head back to the nephilim sleeping quarters. Some of them are already asleep, one even has a knife in his grasp as he snores.
The fucking psychos, and people think I’m crazy, it’s no surprise when I grew up with these nut jobs.
I head to the back of the room, past the beds, and find a corner I can put my back to. I need sleep, but I’m not trusting them not to attack me when I’m weak. Sliding down the wall, I press my spine against the cold brick and pull out two blades, one in each hand, and close my eyes.
I know I need sleep, I need to be rested and strong for whatever my mate has planned, but shutting my eyes is like sleeping in a viper’s nest and sends a shot of adrenaline through me as I wait for them to attack...but then nothing happens.
I start to relax, sighing as my body unlocks from its defensive position, and I slump tiredly as the adrenaline drains away. The cold from the floor seeps through my wrinkled clothes, making me shiver. The air is stale and smells like you would expect with over forty men asleep in here—bad. I focus on everything else, trying to get my mind to settle. I anchor myself in the moment, what can I smell, feel, and hear…
Eventually I relax enough so I start to feel myself drift off to sleep. I sleep half awake, keeping my ears open for any attacks, but the room is quiet other than the rhythmic ticking of a clock.
“Mum,” I call, my fist propped under my chin as I watch the hands on the clock move slowly. “Where is he? He promised to be here by five, but it’s now half past. He’s always late! He promised this time, promised me!”
I hear her sigh. “I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if he cares,” she whispers quietly, and I know I shouldn’t have heard that, but sometimes she forgets I don’t have human hearing. I turn my head, spotting her worrying her bottom lip as she looks at the clock herself before seeming to shake it off and perk up. “I don’t know, baby, he probably got held up working—”
“Like always, we see him less and less, does-does he even love us anymore?” I ask, my bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably as tears fill my eyes. “Is it me? Something I did? Am I not good enough? Is that why he doesn’t love us? I can be better! I swear!”
She rushes over and drops to her knees before me, cupping my face as her human eyes fill with sadness and anger even though her voice is soft. “Shush, baby, no. You know he loves you very much, sometimes he just gets distracted with work is all. Everyone has their downfalls, Griff, but we love them for it even more because those imperfections make them real. You are an amazing son, the best he could have ever asked for, so don’t ever question that again!” She squeezes my cheeks harder then, forcing my lips to create a fish face, and she smiles in return, like the sunshine through a cloud. “There, how can anyone not love that squishy little face?”
“Mum!” I protest, pulling away softly, remembering my own strength versus hers and not wanting to hurt her.
She laughs but drops her hands, clasping my own on my lap. “He loves us, baby, don’t ever question that, he just doesn’t know how to show it. He’s not like us.”
“Soft? Weak?” I say, throwing back the words of the other kids.
“Strong,” she corrects in a stern voice. “It takes true strength to love, Griffin, true strength to admit someone is your weakness and let them in anyway. Only the strongest of us love, because to love is to give someone the keys to hurt you.”
“What…what if they hurt you?” I question, looking away from her eyes, tracing the wrinkled hands clutching mine. Her body is getting weaker by the day. Dad—Gabriel—says it’s because she’s getting old. I asked him if I would, and he said he didn’t know, that we would have to see.
“Then they hurt you. That hurt shows you just how deeply you cared. And in that hurt you find your true strength, you find the will to carry on, and eventually you will discover that sometimes heartbreak is the best thing to happen to you because it teaches you lessons and only makes you wiser for the next time. Don’t be afraid to love, Griffin, it’s scary, unpredictable, and imperfect, but it’s also beautiful, life affirming, and the reason we live. We search our whole lives to love someone, and when you find them you hold on tight and don’t let go. You love everything about them, every quirk, every flaw, every failure because it shows you who they really are, that they love you enough to show you them.”
“Do you love me?” I query, trying to understand what she’s saying. It doesn’t add up to the cruel names the other kids call me for caring, for loving. Or even the clinical, almost cruel way my father describes the necessity for companionship.
“With all my heart. You are my miracle, Griffin. The reason I keep on living, the reason I fight all those bastards out there, and sometimes even your father. I love you more than this human heart can hold.” She presses her hand against her heart and then mine, listening as it beats along with hers. “You have such a capacity for love, my boy, don’t throw that away. Be strong. This world will try to tear you down, don’t let it.”
She smiles then, it’s beautiful and imperfect like she describes. Her teeth are slightly crooked, her lips hanging higher on one side, but it’s familiar and the one she gives me every night and every morning. It reminds me of home, of love, and I am finally beginning to understand what she means.
“Mum—” She starts to fade away and I jerk, my hands reaching out to grab her as she disappears into mist, the smile on her face turning sad.
“Be strong, baby, trust yourself,” she whispers.
“Mum!” I scream.
A hand covers my mouth and I jolt awake, realising I had fallen into a deep sleep. Fuck. My eyes connect with those of the two nephilim above me. They seem familiar somehow, but I don’t have time to connect the dots because they are hauling me to my feet. I fight back, slashing out with my knives, and I hear one grunt as I hit my target, but then a black bag is placed over my head and I’m disoriented. I’m guided from the room and I feel cold air hit my body as we head outside.
I stop fighting, saving my strength for whatever they have planned. They are silent and I feel the gravel give way to grass under my feet. Suddenly I’m jerked around and my face is smashed into something strong and rough. A tree? Maybe. My hands are tugged around the wide trunk and I growl, slashing with my knives again, but a grunt escapes me when they break both wrists, my knives falling to the ground with an audible thud. My hands are tied, the razor wire cutting into my injured wrists which I can feel trying to knit back together. They step away then, and I can hear their ragged breathing from somewhere behind me.
Grinding my teeth, I tug on the razor wire. It’s tight, but I could cut through my wrists if need be to escape, except I don’t know how long it would take for it to heal and I would be weak from blood loss. Plus, what would I do? I can’t hurt them back, the council would have me killed. It would give them proof that I’m the mad dog they call me.