DESCENDANTS OF AZAZEL

CHAPTER SIX — WHAT MY FATHER KNOWS

CHAPTER SIX — WHAT MY FATHER KNOWS

The first thing I noticed when I woke up the next morning was the silence.

Not the normal kind.

The kind that felt like the entire house was holding its breath.

I lay still for several seconds, staring at the ceiling.

Morning light slipped through the curtains, drawing pale lines across my room. My alarm had been ringing for almost a minute before I finally reached out and shut it off.

For once, I didn't immediately think about school.

I thought about the gym.

About the stranger who had appeared there.

About Maya.

About the word she had used.

Nephilim.

And most of all, I thought about my father.

I had spent the entire night replaying everything in my head, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

Maybe Dad had been protecting me from something else.

Maybe Maya had lied.

Maybe the man in the gym was part of some elaborate criminal group.

Maybe I had somehow misunderstood everything.

But every explanation collapsed when I remembered the look on Dad's face when I had asked him what I was.

He hadn't looked confused.

He hadn't looked surprised.

He had looked afraid.

That scared me more than anything.

I got out of bed and walked toward the mirror.

I looked normal.

Messy dark hair. Tired eyes. A small bruise near my cheek from yesterday. Nothing about me suggested that I was supposed to be part of some ancient supernatural bloodline.

I touched the bruise.

It hurt.

At least that was normal.

I lowered my hand.

Then I heard it.

Thump.

My eyes moved toward the bedroom door.

Thump.

A heartbeat.

I froze.

It wasn't coming from the hallway.

It was downstairs.

And somehow, I could hear it clearly through the floor.

I swallowed.

I had heard things like this before, but after everything that had happened, I couldn't convince myself anymore that it was just my imagination.

I grabbed a shirt from the chair and pulled it on.

When I opened my bedroom door, I heard another heartbeat.

This one was faster.

My mother's.

Then Ethan's.

Then my father's.

Three different rhythms.

Three people.

All downstairs.

I stood at the top of the stairs, listening.

"What are we going to tell him?" Mom asked.

My body went still.

Dad answered quietly.

"Not everything."

"Marcus."

"I know."

"He nearly got killed."

"I know."

"And he already knows something is wrong."

There was silence.

Then Dad spoke again.

"We tell him enough to keep him from making a dangerous decision."

I slowly walked down the stairs.

The conversation stopped.

My mother looked up first.

Dad was standing beside the kitchen counter, holding a mug he hadn't touched.

Ethan was sitting at the table eating cereal, completely unaware that the atmosphere in the room had changed.

Mom forced a smile.

"Good morning."

I looked at her.

"Morning."

Dad didn't say anything.

I walked into the kitchen and sat down.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Ethan looked between us.

"Why does everyone look like somebody died?"

Mom gave him a warning look.

"Ethan."

"What?" he asked. "I'm just saying."

I almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, I looked at Dad.

"We need to talk."

His expression hardened slightly.

Mom closed her eyes.

She already knew what was coming.

Dad pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down.

"About last night?"

"About everything."

He stared at me.

I stared back.

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was talking to my father.

I felt like I was talking to someone who had been keeping a secret from me for seventeen years.

"What am I?" I asked.

Dad didn't answer immediately.

Ethan stopped eating.

"Jack—"

"No."

I shook my head.

"I don't want another warning. I don't want you telling me that you're protecting me. I don't want another person showing up and asking me if I know what I am."

I leaned forward.

"I want the truth."

Dad looked at Mom.

She nodded slowly.

He turned back to me.

"You are not completely human."

The words landed harder than I expected.

I had already heard them.

But hearing them again somehow made them more real.

"What does that mean?"

Dad exhaled.

"It means your family has a history that goes back much further than you know."

"How far?"

"Thousands of years."

Ethan's spoon dropped into his bowl.

"Thousands?"

Dad glanced at him.

"Ethan, go upstairs."

"But—"

"Now."

Ethan looked annoyed.

"But I want to know what's happening."

"You're twelve," Dad said firmly. "This isn't your problem."

Ethan looked at me.

I gave him a small nod.

He reluctantly stood.

"This family is weird," he muttered as he walked away.

A few seconds later, his footsteps disappeared upstairs.

I waited until he was gone.

Then I looked at Dad again.

"You said thousands of years."

"Yes."

"Nephilim?"

Dad's jaw tightened.

"Where did you hear that word?"

"Maya."

Mom looked down.

Dad leaned back slightly.

"Maya Sterling."

It wasn't a question.

"You know her?"

"We know what she is."

My stomach tightened.

"What is she?"

Dad hesitated.

"A Nephilim."

I stared at him.

"So it's real."

"Yes."

The word was barely audible.

But it changed everything.

I looked toward Mom.

She was crying.

Not loudly.

Just a few tears running down her face.

"You both knew," I said.

Mom wiped her cheek.

"We've known for a long time."

"How long?"

Dad answered.

"Before you were born."

I stood up.

"You knew before I was born?"

"Jack—"

"You knew?"

My voice rose.

"You knew I wasn't normal and you just let me grow up thinking I was?"

"We wanted you to have a normal life," Mom said.

"Normal?"

I laughed bitterly.

"Some guy broke into our house. Another one showed up at school. Maya says I'm a Nephilim. I can hear things through walls. My injuries disappear. And now you're telling me you've known my entire life?"

Dad stood.

"We were trying to protect you."

"From what?"

He didn't answer.

"From the Elders," Mom said quietly.

I turned toward her.

"Who are they?"

"The people who govern the Nephilim."

My mind went back to Maya.

She had mentioned them before.

But now the word felt different.

"The Elders know about me?"

Dad's silence answered for him.

"Do they know I'm here?"

"Some of them."

"Do they want me?"

Dad looked directly into my eyes.

"Some of them want you dead."

The room seemed to shrink.

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because they don't know what you're capable of becoming."

"I don't even know what I'm capable of becoming."

"Exactly."

Dad walked toward a cabinet near the living room.

He opened it and pulled out an old wooden box.

I'd seen it before.

Several times.

But he'd never allowed me to touch it.

He brought it to the table.

The box looked older than anything else in the house.

He opened it.

Inside were photographs.

Documents.

A few pieces of faded paper.

And something wrapped in dark cloth.

Dad didn't touch the cloth.

Instead, he picked up one of the photographs.

It was the same old photograph I'd seen before.

The young boy.

The strange clothing.

The faded background.

I stared at it.

"Who is he?"

Dad looked at the photograph.

"That's what we've been trying to understand."

"You said before that he survived."

"I did."

"Survived what?"

Dad hesitated.

"The Flood."

I stared at him.

"The biblical Flood?"

"Yes."

I almost laughed.

"This is insane."

"I know."

"Noah's Ark?"

"Yes."

"You're seriously telling me that this family is connected to Noah's Ark?"

"Not exactly."

Dad placed the photograph on the table.

"The story humans know is incomplete."

I looked at Mom.

She wasn't smiling anymore.

Dad continued.

"According to the hidden records, the Nephilim were believed to have been destroyed during the Flood. But one child survived."

"The boy in the photograph?"

Dad nodded.

"An abandoned infant. One of Noah's sons found him and unknowingly brought him aboard the Ark."

I stared at the photograph.

"Why would a Nephilim baby survive?"

"Because nobody knew what he was."

I looked at Dad.

"What happened to him?"

"He lived."

"How long?"

Dad's expression became unreadable.

"Long enough to continue the bloodline."

A chill moved through me.

"You mean... us?"

Dad didn't answer immediately.

"Your family carries that blood."

I looked down at my hands.

Suddenly, everything felt different.

The bruises.

The hearing.

The strange heartbeat.

The man who had attacked us.

Maya.

The Elders.

All of it.

But one question remained.

"Why did it happen now?"

Dad frowned.

"What?"

"My abilities."

He looked at me carefully.

"You've noticed them."

"I've noticed enough."

Mom stepped closer.

"Jack, your hearing began changing recently."

"You knew about that too?"

"We noticed you reacting to things you shouldn't have been able to hear."

I shook my head.

"So why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we hoped it wouldn't happen."

"What wouldn't happen?"

Dad looked at me.

"Your awakening."

The word made my chest tighten.

"What does that mean?"

"Your bloodline becoming active."

"But it already is."

"Not completely."

I stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

Dad walked toward the window.

"Your true awakening is different."

"How?"

"Your body has to believe you're going to die."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Extreme danger. Real danger. The kind your body cannot escape from."

He paused.

"Only then will the blood fully respond."

I didn't know what to say.

"So if I'm in danger..."

"Don't test it."

His voice was sharp.

I nodded slowly.

"I wasn't planning to."

Dad looked relieved.

For the first time that morning, he seemed less like a man hiding something and more like a father terrified of losing his son.

"What happens after I awaken?"

Dad looked away.

"We don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Not completely."

"Then what do you know?"

He looked at the old photograph again.

"We know what the old bloodline was capable of."

"And?"

"Your blood may be stronger than anything we've seen in generations."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

Dad didn't answer.

Instead, he picked up the photograph and turned it over.

Written across the back were two words.

AZAZEL'S BLOOD.

My stomach dropped.

"What's Azazel?"

Mom immediately looked at Dad.

He slowly placed the photograph back on the table.

"That's a question you aren't ready to ask."

"I just asked it."

"And I'm telling you that you're not ready."

I stepped back.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because some truths have consequences."

I looked at him.

"And hiding them doesn't?"

Dad didn't respond.

My phone suddenly vibrated on the table.

I picked it up.

A message.

Unknown number.

You asked your father about the boy.

I froze.

Another message appeared.

Now ask him why the Elders are afraid of you.

I looked up.

Dad had seen the screen.

The color drained from his face.

"Who sent that?"

"I don't know."

The phone vibrated again.

This time, only three words appeared.

They found you.

Dad immediately stood.

"Get your shoes."

"What?"

"Now."

Mom's face changed.

"Marcus?"

Dad was already moving toward the hallway.

"Jack, we're leaving."

I stared at him.

"Where?"

He looked toward the front window.

His expression told me everything.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Then I heard it.

A heartbeat.

Not Mom's.

Not Ethan's.

Not Dad's.

Someone was standing outside.

I could hear the slow, steady rhythm through the glass.

Dad reached for the dark cloth covering the weapon in the cabinet.

I stared at him.

"How many?"

He stopped.

"What?"

I swallowed.

"There are people outside."

Dad slowly turned toward me.

"How many?"

I closed my eyes.

For the first time, I stopped fighting the strange sense inside my head.

I listened.

One heartbeat.

Then another.

Then another.

My eyes opened.

"Three."

Dad's face went completely still.

And somewhere beyond the front door, someone knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Then a voice called from outside.

"Jackson Carter."

I stopped breathing.

"We know you're inside."