Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
The connection between Angel warrior and Nephilim is a magic few will truly understand. In it, deja vu becomes an illusion of memory, a past that you must question as your own or that of the angel from which you descend.
Chapter eleven
Idon’t feel his men anymore, and I pray it’s distance, not death.
We arrive at the edge of the highway after what feels like hours in the bitter cold but was probably only a few minutes. Micah cuts us onto the pavement and barrels toward an eighteen-wheeler sitting in the emergency lane, the door open. Micah launches the snowmobile up the ramp, and then we’re under shelter, blessedly out of the winter elements. The instant we clear the door, lights flicker on, and by the time my gaze reaches behind us to find no one has followed, the door is shut. Another second later, the truck sways and begins to move.
With energy I wouldn’t have believed I possessed at this point, I scramble off the seat, preparing for confrontation. I have no idea who this man is, if I can really trust him, or what he wants from me.
He slicks his wet hair away from his face and dismounts the snowmobile with agility no one should possess after the arctic travel we’ve endured. And when he turns to face me, I’m again struck by his predatory grace, a panther always on the hunt for prey. Brutality beneath his surface as raw as his masculinity.
I oddly find myself drawn to that part of him, and I am terrified. “Who are you, and where are we going?”
“Micah Amor,” he says simply, as if the equally simple name explains everything when it explains nothing. He walks to the corner of the truck and flips a switch. Heating elements glow to life around the floorboards. “Take your wet coat off,” he directs, opening a long, wooden cabinet attached to the wall. “You’ll never warm up with it on.”
He’s right. It’s heavy and cold, but I really don’t care right now. I need to know things. I need to know everything. “Why were you at that coffee shop? Who are you?” I repeat.
He abandons the cabinet to face me again. “I told you. I’m Micah—”
“Okay, no.” I hold up a hand I can barely feel for the cold-laden numbness. “What are you?”
“At my core, I’m just a man trying to do what’s right by saving a damsel in distress and figuring out how she got on Jeremy’s radar.”
“That’s…complicated,” I say, barely getting the words out for the chatter of my teeth. “It’s…cold.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Take the jacket off before you get hypothermia.”
I don’t push back this time. I shrug out of the heavy weight of it, and only then do I remember that my shirt is torn and my bra is all that covers a portion of my body. I hug myself, flashing back to Ryker on top of me, pawing at me, a spawn of Jeremy, a demon and a sexual predator. My lips tremble, the sound of movement jerking my attention to Micah, who’s approaching me with a blanket in his hand.
Still rattled by the Ryker memories, I step backward, distancing myself from him. With a clench of his jaw, Micah halts in response. “All right, then,” he says, “have it your way.” He tosses the blanket at me, but I miss it.
“I can’t feel my hands,” I whisper, and when I squat down to grab the blanket, just like in front of the coffee shop, he’s there with me.
He snatches up the blanket, and I sway, losing my balance. I tilt forward, catching myself on his knees. The awkward intimacy I’ve created is dashed by me smacking my forehead into his. “Ouch. Sorry.”
But when I would tug my hands from his knees, he covers them with his, the headbutt obviously not what is on his mind. “I’m not one of them.”
His hands on my hands could feel like a trap. Instead, they’re warm, and his touch radiates through me in a familiar way that I cannot explain. He’s not a demon. He’s not a man. He’s a Seer, I remind myself. Whatever that is. “What is he?”
“You already know that answer.” His long fingers splay on my upper arms, and he stands, taking me with him. I’m instantly, intensely aware of my nearly naked breasts between us, though, to his credit, he’s a perfect gentleman. He simply wraps the blanket around me, holding the ends together. And for a moment, he just stares down at me, his blue eyes—so like my own—mesmerizing, and I feel that familiar feeling swell between us again. Almost Deja vu. As if he too feels it, he abruptly captures my hands and places them on the blanket fold. Once I’ve wrapped my fingers around the cloth, he steps back, placing space between us, but the truck jolts, and he grabs me again.