Page 23 of Galen

“Joseph knew about us too.” Referring to him in the past tense while he still lived made Alastair flinch a little. I couldn’t find the will to care right then though. I was too irritated.

“That was different. I didn’t tell him for months, not until I knew I could trust him.” Alastair’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “We know close to nothing about this Simon Parks. Humans are easily corrupted by demons. He could betray us the moment he leaves. That doesn’t include the trouble he can cause while he’s here.”

“I’ll take full responsibility for anything that happens.”

“Damn right you will. You’ll stay by his side and watch him the entire time he’s with us. Make sure he doesn’t sneak off and meddle in things he shouldn’t. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“Though as displeased with you as I am… your decision might not have been totally foolish.” Alastair tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “None of us can open the box. But the human can.”

“You wish to use him?”

“He’s here. He might as well be useful to us.”

The idea made sense. I nodded before standing and walking toward the door.

“And Galen?”

I glanced back at Alastair.

“If I believe for even a moment that this human plans to betray us in any way… I won’t hesitate in killing him.”

I exited the study, my hands fisted at my sides. He was right, of course. If Simon became a threat to us, we’d have to dispose of him. Human or not.

So why did the thought of it cause a knotting in the pit of my stomach?

I pictured how peaceful Simon looked as he slept, his lips slightly parted and his chest softly rising and falling. The memory of his scent tickled my nose, how he smelled of rain showers and earth.

The urge to protect him strengthened.

“Well, aren’t you acting out of character,” a voice said from the shadows. Daman stepped out from his place against the wall, his long, slender body decked out in leather pants and a crop top that showed his toned belly. The back of the shirt was open so he could spread his wings without having to undress.

Envy.

Out of the seven of us, he tended to keep to himself the most.

“How so?” I asked.

“Bringing the human home instead of letting him die.” Daman tilted his head at me, expression puzzled. Medium-length brown hair fell a bit into his face, and his bangs swooped over his emerald-green eyes. “I wonder why.”

“I’m getting really sick of all of you asking me that.”

“Can you blame us?” The small silver crosses on his bracelets jingled as he stepped over to the window and peered out into the night. The moon reflected off the sea. “The last time any of us allowed a human into our home was in the Renaissance era. And you remember how that turned out.”

We’d lived in Italy at the time—we changed location at least once every century, moving across the globe.

Raiden had met an artist in Florence, taken him as a lover, and invited him to stay with us for a few nights. That’s all it had taken for the demons to zero in on him. The man had been captured after leaving our home one day and tortured by demons until he told them our location.

Belphegor sent demons to attack in the dead of night, taking us by surprise. Daman and Castor had nearly been killed.

As Nephilim, we could heal from almost every injury, but we weren’t indestructible. A specific kind of weapon—a celestial blade—could be used to weaken our healing abilities. When used, it injured us as if we were human. Castor’s neck had been sliced so deep it took him weeks to heal. Daman had taken a dagger to the heart and barely survived.

“That won’t happen again,” I said.

“If you say so.” Daman looked at me. Sadness radiated off him. Part of the sin he held. “Any blood spilled is on your hands.”

Chapter Six