“Did you have a good time?” she asked, yawning.

“The team played really well,” I said evasively.

“Marcie came home a few hours ago. She didn’t say much, just went straight to her room and shut the door. She seemed . . . quiet. Upset, maybe.” There was a hint of inquiry in her tone.

“Probably PMS.” Probably she was doing everything in her power not to launch into a full-fledged panic attack. I’d been possessed before, and words couldn’t describe how violating it felt. But I wasn’t feeling especially sympathetic. If Marcie had done what I’d asked, none of this would have happened.

In my bedroom, I shucked out of my clothes and examined my stab wound once more. The electric blue tint was fading. Slowly, but fading nonetheless. It had to be a good sign.

I’d just crawled into bed when there was a tap at the door. Marcie opened it and stood in the entrance. “I’m freaking out,” she said, and she genuinely looked like she meant it.

I motioned for her to come in and shut the door.

“What happened back there?” she demanded, her voice cracking. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How did he take over my body like that?”

“Blakely possessed you.”

“How can you be calm about this?” she shrieked in an undertone. “He was living inside me. Like some kind of . . . parasite!”

“If you had let me take down Blakely like we agreed, this wouldn’t have happened.” As soon as I said it, I regretted sounding so harsh. Marcie had done a stupid thing, but who was I to judge? I’d made my fair share of impulsive decisions. Caught up in the moment, she’d reacted. She wanted to know who killed her father, and who could blame her? Certainly not me.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

But it was too late. She gave me a wounded look, and left.

Chapter 15

I AWOKE WITH A JOLT. DANTE WAS LEANING OVER MY bed, his hands straddling my shoulders. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I tried to roll away, but his arms had me pinned in place. “It’s Saturday,” I protested wearily. Training was all fine and good, but I deserved one day off.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. A good one.”

“The only surprise I want is another two hours of sleep.” The window showed that the sky was still full dark, and I doubted it was much later than five thirty.

He flung off my covers and I squealed, grabbing blindly for them. “Do you mind!”

“Cute pj’s.”

I was wearing a black T-shirt I’d swiped from Patch’s closet, and it barely reached mid-thigh.

I simultaneously tugged the shirt down and the sheets higher. “Fine,” I relented with a huff. “I’ll meet you outside.”

After dragging on my running clothes and lacing up my shoes, I trudged outside. Dante wasn’t in the driveway, but I sensed him nearby, most likely in the woods across the stre

Sure enough, Dante had brought a friend. Only, by the look of the friend—two black eyes, a cut lip, a swollen jaw, and one painful-looking goose egg on his forehead—the two were on anything but good terms.

“Recognize him?” Dante asked cheerfully, holding the injured Nephil up by the scruff of his neck for my appraisal.

I stepped closer, unsure what kind of game Dante was playing. “No. He’s too beat up. Did you do this to him?”

“Sure this handsome mug doesn’t ring a bell?” Dante asked again, jerking the Nephil’s jaw side to side, clearly enjoying himself. “He was shooting his mouth off last night about you. He bragged about giving you a serious beating. Of course, that’s when he caught my interest. I told him he’d never done such a thing. And if he had, well, let’s just say I don’t take kindly to Nephil underlings disrespecting their leaders, especially the commander of the Black Hand’s army.” All lightheartedness had faded from Dante’s tone, and he eyed the injured Nephil with open contempt.

“It was a prank,” the Nephil said sullenly. “Thought we’d see how sincere she is about following through with the Black Hand’s vision. She wasn’t even born a Nephil. Thought we’d give her a taste of what she’s up against—”

“Cowboy Hat?” I blurted aloud. His face was too disfigured to bear any resemblance to the Nephil who’d hauled me to a cabin, tied me to a post, and threatened me, but his voice rang true. He was definitely Cowboy Hat. Shaun Corbridge.

“Prank?” Dante chuckled with venom. “If that’s what constitutes a prank in your mind, maybe you’ll find something to laugh about in what we’re going to do to you.” He slugged Cowboy Hat in the head so viciously he collapsed to his knees.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked Dante. “Privately?”

“Of course.” He pointed a warning finger at Cowboy Hat. “You budge, you bleed.”

After I was sure we had walked out of Cowboy Hat’s hearing range, I said, “What’s going on?”

“I was at the Devil’s Handbag last night, and that numskull buffoon over there was bragging about using you as his personal punching bag. At first I thought I was hearing wrong. But the louder he talked, the more I realized he wasn’t, in any way, shape, or form, making up his story. Why didn’t you tell me some of our soldiers attacked you?” Dante demanded. His tone wasn’t angry. Hurt, maybe, but not angry.

“Are you asking because you’re concerned about what this means for my ratings, or are you concerned about me?”

Dante shook his head. “Don’t say that. You know I’m not thinking about your numbers. Truth is, I stopped caring about them almost instantly. This is about you. That punk over there laid his hands on you, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Yes, he should show you respect as commander of an army he claims to belong to, but it’s more than that. He should respect you because you’re a good person, and you’re giving this your best sho yo I talk tt. I see it, and I want him to see it too.”

I was uncomfortable with his honesty and intimacy. Especially after the kiss he’d almost mind-tricked me into. His words seemed to stray beyond professional, and that was what our relationship was. That was what I wanted it to remain.

I said, “I appreciate everything you just said, but exacting revenge isn’t going to change his mind. He hates me. Lots of Nephilim do. This might be a good opportunity to show them they just might be wrong about me. I think we should let him go and get on with training.”

Dante didn’t look swayed. If anything, his face bore disappointment and maybe even impatience. “Compassion isn’t the way to go. Not this time. That punk over there is only going to make his case stronger if you let him off easy. He’s trying to convince people you aren’t fit to lead this army, and if you go easy on him, it only proves his point. Rattle him up a bit. Make him think twice about shooting off his mouth again or touching you.”

“Let him go,” I said more firmly. I didn’t believe violence trumped violence. Not now, not ever.

Dante opened his mouth, going a little red in the face, but I cut him off. “I’m not backing down on this. He didn’t hurt me. He took me up to the cabin because he’s scared and he didn’t know what else to do. Everyone’s scared. Cheshvan is here, and our future hangs in the balance. What he did was wrong, but I can’t hold it against him for trying to do something to alleviate his fears. Put down your pitchfork and let him go. I mean it, Dante.”

Dante exhaled a long, disapproving sigh. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I also believed I was making the right decision. I didn’t want to fuel the fires of contention any more than I already had. If the Nephilim as a whole were going to get through this, we had to be unified. We had to be willing to display compassion, respect, and civility, even when we didn’t see eye to eye.

“So that’s it?” Dante asked, clearly not satisfied.

I cupped my hands over my mouth to amplify my voice. “You’re free to go,” I called to Cowboy Hat. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”

Cowboy Hat stared at us, his mouth parted in disbelief, but not wanting to press his luck, he scrabbled out of the woods as if being pursued by bears.

“So,” I said to Dante. “What cruel machinations do you have planned for me today? Sprint a marathon? Move mountains? Part the seas?”

An hour later my arm and leg muscles quivered from exhaustion. Dante had pushed me through grueling intervals of calisthenics: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and flutter kicks. We were on our way out of the woods, when I brought my arm up suddenly, catching Dante across the chest. I held a finger to my lips, gesturing for him not to make a sound.

In the distance, I could just make out the soft crunch of footsteps.

Dante must have heard it too. Deer? he asked me.

I squinted into the darkness. The woods were still unlit, and the densely packed trees only added to my decreased visibility.

No. The rhythm’s not right.

Dante tapped my shoulder and pointed toward the sky. At first I didn’t understand. Then his meaning became clear. He wanted us to climb the trees, giving us an eagle-eye view of trouble, if that was indeed what was headed our way.

Despite my exhaustion, I scaled a white cedar noiselessly with a few expert leaps and quick foot placement. Dante perched in a neighboring tree.

We didn’t wait long. Moments after climbing to safety, six fallen angels crept stealthily into the clearing below. Three males and three females. Their bare torsos were marked with strange hieroglyphics that bore a distant resemblance to the paint splatter on Patch’s wrist, and their faces were painted a deep bloodred. The effect was chilling, and I couldn’t help but think of Pawnee warriors.

I fastened my gaze on one in particular. A lanky boy with black-ringed eyes. His familiar face froze my blood. I remembered his savage march through the Devil’s Handbag, and the way his hand had flashed out. I remembered his victim. I remembered how she’d looked just like me.

A vicious snarl hardened his expression, and he stalked through the trees with purpose. His chest bore a recent wound, small and circular, as if a knife had been used to crudely cut out a piece of flesh. Something cold and unforgiving gleamed in his eyes, and I shuddered.

Dante and I stayed in the trees until the party moved on. When we were back on solid ground, I said, “How did they find us?”

His eyes turned on mine, hooded and cold. “They made a big mistake coming after you like this.”

“Do you think they’ve been spying on us?”

“I think someone tipped them off.”

“The lanky one. I’ve seen him before, at the Devil’s Handbag. He attacked a Nephilim girl who looked a lot like me. Do you know him?”

“No.” But it seemed to me he paused a half moment before answering.

Five hours later I was showered and dressed, I’d eaten a healthy breakfast of Egg Beaters with mushrooms and spinach, and as a bonus, I’d finished all my homework. Not bad, considering it wasn’t even noon.

Down the hall, Marcie’s bedroom door opened and she emerged. Her hair stuck up all over the place, and there were dark circles under her eyes. I could almost smell her morning breath from here.