still hear the rain, but at least the thunder has calmed down, and I try to shake away the chills that want to crawl up my skin.
I pull in a deep breath and focus as I scoot to the end of my seat. Jerif hands me my scythe, and I give him a small smile of thanks for watching over it while I lost my mind. Tazreel has once again taken up residence in the chair directly across the room, and Nefta is leaning against the arm of the sofa as far away from him as she can be.
“When did your parents die?” she asks me calmly, and for a brief moment, I’m grateful that she doesn’t do what Taz has been doing, and pretend she’s my parent. She’s nothing more to me than the person who gave birth to me and then walked away.
“I was nineteen,” I tell her, and she nods solemnly.
The vibe in the room is more sober, and as much fun as having a breakdown in front of everyone is, I’m at least glad that Nefta and Tazreel have stopped bickering. Maybe now I can get some answers.
I stare at Nefta expectantly, and like she knows there’s no getting out of it, she sighs and rubs at the back of her neck. “I am not a warm person,” she begins. “It’s not personal, it’s just who I’ve always been. I was made for battles and strategies...not motherhood,” she explains, and I sit back and give her the space to unfold her story. “Playing with Sin is a rite of passage for us angels. Some will pretend like it’s not, but everyone knows what’s up,” Nefta adds, looking at Louquin like she’s challenging him to say it’s not true. He stays silent, keeping his eyes on the ground, away from her heavy stare.
“I thought I was being careful, that my protections against pregnancy worked for the Fallen just like it worked for other angels, but I discovered that wasn’t the case.”
Tazreel snorts at her use of Fallen instead of Abdicated like they prefer to be called, but he thankfully stays quiet.
“When I knew for sure I was with child, keeping you was never an option,” she goes on, not shying away from the truth or doing me the disrespect of looking away in shame. “When I discovered who Sophocles really was, I also knew that I couldn’t hand you over to Tazreel either. So I did what I thought was best. It sounds as though it didn’t quite work out for you as I had planned, and that’s unfortunate, but I’m not sorry I made the choice that I did. It may not seem like it, but I was protecting you. It was by far what was best for you, and—”
“Protecting her?” Tazreel snarls, shooting up to his feet. “What was best? No. What would have been best is telling me the truth and affording me my rights as a Sire!”
Nefta snorts incredulously, not at all cowed or affected by Taz’s rage. “You would have used her, bent her to your prideful will. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what she is at her core. You couldn’t have been a good Sire to her any more than I could’ve been a good mother. She’s not some pawn, which you would have made her out to be.”
“Oh, please,” Tazreel scoffs.
“You wouldn’t know what was in anyone’s best interest, aside from your own, if it scythed you across the throat,” Nefta challenges, cutting him off. “You’re just pissed that I made a decision without you. But what does it really matter? Is this just about your bruised pride? Because we both know you never wanted progeny.”
“You had no right!” Taz bellows, enraged. She obviously pressed the right button for him to be so furious.
“No, you had no right,” she snaps, her beautiful face alight with anger. “You were unworthy of her, just like I was. Get over yourself, Pride. I made the right choice.”
“You—”
“Stop! Both of you...just stop!” I shout out, interrupting Taz before they can keep going head-to-head. Surprisingly, they both listen. I grip the scythe in my hand tighter and try to rein in my frustration. “You can fight later about who did what and why it was wrong. It has nothing to do with me right now and honestly doesn’t change a thing.” My eyes swivel to Taz. “Proving that you’ve been wronged doesn’t erase the past or the fact that