“Your paranoia is astounding. You found a feather while pawing through my drawers, so what?

What does that prove? That you’re a pervert?”

He sat back, crossing his legs. “Is this really the road you want to take? I have no doubt the fall en angel is Patch. I sensed him in your bedroom the other night. I’ve sensed him on you for a while now.”

“Ironic that you’re grilling me when you obviously know more than I do. Maybe we should switch seats?” I suggested.

“Oh? And whose feather do you expect me to believe was in your drawer?” Hank inquired with the slightest trace of amusement.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, defiance dripping from every word. “I found the feather in the cemetery right after you dumped me there.”

A wicked smile spread across his features. “My men ripped out Patch’s wings in the same cemetery. I daresay it’s his feather.”

I swallowed discreetly. Hank had Patch’s feather. I had no way of knowing if he understood the power this gave him over Patch. I could only pray he didn’t.

Trying to draw attention away from that terrifying thought, I said, “I know you planned the car crash.

I know it was your men who hit us. Why the charade?”

The superior glint in his smile made me uneasy. “That was next on my list of things to discuss.

While you were blacked out, I performed a blood transfusion on you,” he stated simply. “I filled your veins with my blood, Nora. My purebred Nephilim blood.”

A brittle silence crackled between us.

“This kind of operation has never been done before, not successfully, that is, but I’ve found a way to tamper with the laws of the universe. So far things have gone better than expected. Should I tell you that my biggest worry was that the transfusion would kill you on the spot?” I grasped for answers, for some way to make sense of the horrible things he was telling me, but my head was muddled. A blood transfusion. Why, why, why? It could explain why I’d felt so strange at the hospital. It could explain why Hank had appeared so beat and exhausted. “You used devilcraft to do it,” I announced nervously.

He cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve heard about devilcraft. The angel figured it out?” he guessed, not looking pleased.

“Why did you perform the transfusion?” My mind raced for the answer—he needed me for a sacrifice, a doppelgänger, an experiment. If none of those, then what?

“You’ve had my blood inside you since the day your mother gave birth to you, but it wasn’t pure enough. You weren’t a first-generation Nephil, and I need you to be a purebred, Nora. You’re so close now. All that’s left is to swear a Changeover Vow before heaven and hell. Upon your vow, the close now. All that’s left is to swear a Changeover Vow before heaven and hell. Upon your vow, the transformation will be complete.”

The weight of his words slowly sank in, and it sickened me. “You thought you could turn me into one of your brainwashed, obedient Nephilim soldiers?” I rocked violently in the chair, trying to tear free.

“I’ve seen a prophecy foretelling my death. I’ve been using a device enhanced with devilcraft to look into my future and, just to be sure, got a second opinion.” I hardly heard him. I was incensed by his confession, trembling with rage. Hank had violated me in the worst possible way. He’d tampered with my life, attempting to twist and mold me as he pleased.

He’d injected his vile, murderous blood into my veins!

“You’re Nephilim, Hank. You can’t die. You don’t die. As much as I wish you would,” I added on a venomous note.

“Both the device and a former angel of death have seen it. Their prophecies match. I don’t have long. My last days on Earth will be spent preparing you to lead my army against fall en angels,” he said with the first hint of resignation.

It all locked into place. “You’re running this entire plan on the word of Dabria? She doesn’t have a gift. She needs money. She can’t predict the future any more than you or I. Did it ever occur to you that she’s probably laughing herself silly right now?”

“I rather doubt it,” he said dryly, as though he knew something I did not. “I need you to be a purebred Nephil, Nora, to command my army. To lead my society. To step up as my rightful heir and free Nephilim everywhere from bondage. After this Cheshvan, we will be our own masters, no longer ruled by fall en angels.”

“You’re insane. I’m not doing anything for you. I’m especially not swearing your vow.”

“You have the mark. You’ve been preordained. Do you really think I want you to become the leader of everything I’ve built?” he said in a hardened voice. “You aren’t the only one who doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Destiny claims us, not the other way around. First there was Chauncey. Then me. Now the responsibility falls to you.”

I glared at him, putting all my hate behind it. “You want a blood relative to lead your army? Get Marcie. She likes ordering people around. She’ll be a natural.”

“Her mom is a purebred Nephil.”

“Didn’t see that coming, but even better. Surely that makes Marcie a purebred too?” A nice little trio of supremacists.

Hank’s laugh sounded increasingly weary. “We never expected Susanna to conceive. Purebred Nephilim don’t mate together successfully. We understood from the beginning that Marcie was a bit of a miracle and would never live long. She didn’t have my mark. She was always small, frail, struggling to survive. She doesn’t have long now—her mother and I both feel it.” A burst of memories rushed out of my subconscious. I remembered talking about this before.

About how to kill a Nephil. About sacrificing a female descendant who’d reached the age of sixteen.

I remembered my own doubts about why my biological father would give me up. I remembered …

In that one instant, everything became clear. “That’s why you didn’t bother hiding Marcie from Rixon. That’s why you gave me up, but kept her. You never thought she’d live long enough to be used as a sacrifice.”

I, on the other hand, had the full package: Hank’s Nephilim mark and an excellent chance of survival. I’d been hidden away as a baby to keep Rixon from sacrificing me, but in a twist of fate, Hank now intended me to lead his revolution. I shut my eyes hard, wishing I could block out the truth.

“Nora,” Hank said. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

I shook my head. “I won’t swear the vow. Not now, not ten minutes from now, not ever.” My nose dripped, and I couldn’t wipe it. I didn’t know which was more humiliating—that, or the quiver in my lip.

“I admire your bravery,” he said, his voice deceptively gentle. “But there are all kinds of bravery, and this one doesn’t suit you.”

I jumped when his finger tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, an almost fatherly gesture. “Swear the vow to become a purebred Nephil and command my army, and I’ll let you and your mother go. I don’t want to hurt you, Nora. The choice is yours. Swear the vow, and you can shut the door on this night. It will all go away.” He untied the knots at my wrists; the rope slithered to the floor.

My hands trembled as I kneaded them in my lap, but not from lack of blood. Something else he’d said had filled me with icy dread. “My mom?”

“That’s right. She’s here. In one of the lower rooms, sleeping.” The awful sting returned behind my eyes. “Did you hurt her?” Instead of answering my question, he said, “I am the Black Hand. I’m a busy man, and I’ll be honest, this is the last place I want to be tonight. This is the last thing I want to be doing. But my hands are tied. You hold the power. Swear the oath, and you and your mom will walk away together.”

“Did you ever love her?”

He blinked in surprise. “Your mother? Of course I loved her. At one time, I loved her very much.

The world is different now. My vision has changed. I had to sacrifice my own love for the interest of my entire race.”

“You’re going to kill her, aren’t you? If I don’t swear the vow, that’s what you’ll do.”

“My life has been defined by difficult choices. I won’t stop making them tonight,” he said, a sideways answer to my question that left me with no doubt.

“Let me see her.”

Hank gestured to a row of windows across the room. I stood slowly, afraid of the condition I might find her in. When I looked out the panel of windows, I realized I was in an office of sorts, overlooking the warehouse below. My mom was curled up on a cot, watched over by three armed Nephilim as she slumbered. I wondered if, like me, her perception cleared in her dreams and she saw Hank for the monster he really was. I wondered if, when he was gone from her life completely, no longer able to manipulate her, she would see him the way I saw him. It was my answer to those questions that gave me the courage to face Hank.

“You pretended to love her so you could get to me? All those lies for this one moment?”

“You’re cold,” Hank said patiently. “Tired. Hungry. Swear the vow, and let’s end this.”

“If I swear the vow, and you end up living, as I suspect you will, I want you to swear your own oath. I want you to leave town and disappear from my mom’s life forever.”

“Done.”

“And I want to call Patch first.”

He barked a laugh. “No. Though I see you’ve finally come clean about him. You can break the news to him after you’ve sworn the vow.”

Not surprising. But I’d had to try.

I put all the defiance I possessed into my words. “I won’t swear the vow for you.” I cast my eyes toward the window once more. “But I will for her.”

“Cut yourself,” Hank instructed, placing a switchblade in my hand. “Swear on your blood to become a purebred Nephil and direct my army upon my death. If you break the oath, confess your punishment. Your death … and your mother’s.”

I locked eyes with him. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“It is now. And it expires in five seconds. The next deal will include your friend Vee’s death too.” I glared at him in rage and disbelief, but it was the worst I could do. He had me trapped.

“You first,” I ordered.

If it weren’t for the determination etched on his face, he might have looked amused. Pricking his skin, he said, “If I live beyond the next month, I vow to leave Coldwater and never come into contact with you or your mother again. If I break this vow, I command my body to turn to dust.” Taking the blade, I screwed the knife tip into my palm, shaking a few drops of blood loose, as I remembered Patch doing in his memory. I said a silent prayer that he’d be able to forgive me for what I was about to do. That in the end, we had a love that would transcend blood and race. I stopped my thoughts there, afraid I wouldn’t go through with it if I allowed myself to think of Patch further. With my heart ripping in two different directions, I retreated to some hollow place within and faced the appalling task at hand.