And Keep Your Enemies Closer

And Keep Your Enemies Closer 1

PART I MILES

1

Miles stood looking out of the window, enjoying a glass of excellent bourbon and relishing the height from which he could look down upon the city lights as if he were one of the angels. Typical of his father, who was going to milk being a Nephilim (or the husband of one, he actually didn't have a drop of angel blood in him) for all it was worth, to live on the top floors of the highest building in Los Angeles, the city of angels, the city ruled by angels.

To be sure, the angels couldn't care less about the city or its denizens. It would be more precise to say that the city was ruled by the Nephilim, who were half-angels and half-humans, though it had been a few centuries since angels had actually sired Nephilims and now the angel blood was diluted more than ever before. Still, even if you had just one drop of angel blood in you, you were a Nephilim, one of the royalty, in this city.

Miles' father, understanding that fact better than anyone, had scouted high and low to find a suitable woman from a Nephilim family to marry, and had finally succeeded, using all his money and all his pull, to become one of the exalted. Though he was still not of the same rank as those with angel blood, he was consoled by the fact that his three children, at least, were Nephilims, and that he could bask in their glory.

Miles, personally, couldn't see what was so great about being a Nephilim. Sure, he liked being treated like a prince wherever he went, enjoyed the way the regular, boring humans looked with longing at the way his skin faintly gave off light in the most ethereal way, and it didn't hurt that he never got sick, considering the kind of lifestyle he led. In fact, he would live longer than most humans, no matter how much drugs he did or how much alcohol he consumed.

But angel blood had been diluted down over the years, and his mother came from one of the lower classes of Nephilim (even his father's money couldn't buy him a wife from the higher classes, they only tended to marry fellow Nephilims to try to preserve the angel bloodline), and so, in plain terms, he was nothing more than a human with glowing skin, healthy body and longer years to live. He pretty much got what he wanted, not because he was a Nephilim, but because he was stunningly handsome and extremely wealthy. Still, he had secured an easy job at the city government because of the angel blood in him, so he wasn't complaining.

"You're drinking already?"

The exasperated voice of his butler and valet, Winston, called him back to the present. He turned around and smiled at Winston.

"This is actually my third glass."

"You know, you should at least pretend to go to the office once in a while."

Winston walked to the walk-in closet and started laying out a tuxedo for Miles.

"Why? Most Nephilims couldn't care less about running this city. The government needs people with angel blood to show that it is a Nephilim government, but there aren't enough Nephilims interested in being a part of it. They need me in that City Council seat more than I need to be in it, so I can run around as much as I want, and they can get the regular humans to do my job. As long as they have me as their poster boy, we should both be happy with this arrangement."

"Yes, but your father won't be pleased, will he?"

"He is never pleased with what I do, Chewy."

Winston glared at Miles. He hated being called that, and Miles knew it, and he did it on purpose. Winston knew Miles loved to provoke him, and bit back a retort.

"I have drawn you a bath, and prepared something to relax you in addition. Don't know if that's prudent given that you've already been drinking, but..."