Her jaw dropped when he looked up at her, allowing the small amount of light in the room to touch his face. His face was covered in blood and bruises. His left eye was swollen shut. The man pictured on television had been handsome and youthful, but the man seated before her was anything but. She could see the strain in his neck as he fought to keep his head up.
"You can beat me all you want, but I won't tell you another word," he said, spitting blood at Myleah's feet.
"Good luck getting anything from him," Lydian said, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.
Myleah approached the man, watching as his head lolled to the side, the energy required to keep it upright too much for him. They'd clearly done their worst to break the man, evidenced by the amount of bruising on his face, neck, and chest. Deep purple marks lined his ribs which were sunken in near his chest, making it hard for him to draw breath. The concave of his stomach and protrusion of bone alerted her to the fact the man hadn't eaten in some time.
"I'm sorry," she said, before she could think any better.
"Then let me go," he croaked out between dry lips.
She looked about the room for something she could give him to ease his discomfort. In the corner, sitting on top of a table out of his reach, sat a glass of water, put there for no other reason but to taunt the poor man she was sure. She grabbed up the cup and brought it to her nose. It didn't give off the smell of chemicals but she tasted it anyway. If it had been poisoned, she'd heal but he wouldn't. Satisfied when nothing happened, she took the glass toward him and placed it against his lips. He tilted his head back, allowing the water to flow into his mouth as he gulped down every drop. Depending on how long he'd been without water, it wouldn't be enough to satisfy him but something was better than nothing in his position.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice clearer.
He eyed her wearily as she returned the cup to the table and sat on the ground before him.
"I have a few questions for you, do you understand?" she asked.
Before he could respond, she pushed into his mind and spoke to him through the connection. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you. Nod if you understand.
He gave her a weak nod.
"I need you to tell me who you were working with."
In his mind, she said, I'm going to glimpse into your mind for the truth. I'm looking for someone I believe will help me take down the council. I understand you have no reason to trust me, but I promise I'll do everything in my power to get you out of here.
He remained silent as she strengthened the connection between them. What she saw baffled her. He'd been setting up a meeting between The Opposition and the council, trying to broker a deal for peace between them. Daniel and Lydian had agreed, at least that's what David thought. Pushing further, she could hear the mental conversation between Daniel and Kiana, the threats against David should she refuse to meet his demands. She pushed further, gathering up every piece of information she could get on The Opposition. She saw everything. Their plans to fight against the Fallen until they relinquished their power. The one time they'd successfully killed a fallen angel that attacked them. Brayden. Letta. People she didn't know but she was certain would be of use to her moving forward. What she didn't see was the only thing she'd hoped to find. Tyrin.
She pulled from his head, disappointment weighing on her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She'd been wrong in thinking David would lead her to Tyrin.
David dropped his gaze toward the floor. "You can't help me, can you?"
"I promised you I'd get you out of here, and that's what I intend to do. I just need to figure out how."
The place was heavily guarded, something she'd noticed as she made her approach. Getting past a couple of Fallen would be easy, but she couldn't take them all on and carry David with her as well. Without wings, she couldn't take to the air, and carrying him on foot would be difficult alone. She could demand Lydian release him but she knew she wouldn't. Lydian had other plans for the man who'd dared go against the council. His public execution was scheduled to proceed in two days, giving Myleah no time to come up with a plan.
She stood to her feet and paced the room. Something had to give. She couldn't believe she'd been led there for nothing at all. But what was it? What was she missing?
Then she felt it, that gentle tug she hadn't felt in centuries so faint she thought she'd imagined it at first. She reached out with her mind, searching for it, trying to grasp it. When nothing happened immediately, she nearly gave up, but she felt it again, this time stronger than the last. It filled her with a feeling of warmth, hot and demanding, coursing through her body like a wave. She smiled.
"Tyrin."
Twenty-Two
Tyrin sat outside the building where David was being kept, under the cover of trees and bushes. As suspected, the tall two-story home was guarded by a group of Fallen enforcers, some of which he knew by name and some he knew wouldn’t hesitate to bring him down on sight.
Were he there for a fight, he’d have little chance of surviving the night, but that wasn’t his aim.
He watched as his old friend, Jacob, exited the house. The fluorescent glow of the street light brightened his dark skin as he peered out into the darkness. For a moment, Tyrin wondered if it were he Jacob had been searching for, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. After centuries of practice, he’s been able to make his presence undetectable, making it easy for him to catch them off guard. It was a talent few had but, with the help of his father, he’d been able master it.
Or perhaps not, he thought as Jacob’s eyes slid in his direction. He ducked further into the shadows. For his plan to work, he would need to draw one of them far enough away from the building to prevent another’s intervention, but he’d never imagined it would be Jacob.
He sent up a silent prayer to his creator, knowing he’d be ignored. Without Jacob’s assistance, his parents would never have been alerted to the council’s plot to take them out and for that, he owed Jacob his very life. If there were but a chance God would show mercy, that would have been the moment.
Jacob stepped off the porch, casual as not to alert anyone of his suspicion. But Tyrin knew he’d been made. He felt the gentle push of Jacob’s mind trying to gauge who lurked beyond the bushes, but Tyrin wouldn’t relent. Had he tried to reach out to Jacob, there was a miniscule chance Jacob would leave him be. There was a greater chance, however, Jacob would alert the others of his presence before he had even the slightest chance to see his plan through.
He pushed back, gentle enough Jacob wouldn’t be able to identify him but strong enough for Jacob to become curious. He nearly cursed when it worked. Jacob stalked toward the bush prepared to yank Tyrin from the bushes, but Tyrin had been too fast for him.
Without hesitation, Tyrin summoned his dagger and planted it in the Jacobs throat. Blood spattered across Tyrin’s face and chest, even more so as Jacob struggled to call out, his efforts producing nothing more than gargled whimpers.
“I’m sorry, old friend,” Tyrin said after allowing Jacob a moment to send a mental plea to the angel’s within range of him. The moment he heard he, he yanked the dagger from Jacobs neck, and watched as it morphed into a fiery whip. He wrapped the whip around Jacobs neck and tugged, severing his head from his body.
With no time to regret what he’d done, he took to the air, slipping between tall trees until he was sure he hadn’t been followed. He’d made it about a mile from them before he descended, still he could hear the cries of the Fallen gathered around Jacob’s dead body.
He slumped up against a tree and allowed himself but a moment to feel the gravity of what he’d done. Jacob had been one of the angel’s who’d stood with his parents when they rejected the council’s plan. It pained him to kill the man, but he’d been left with no choice. Jacob would have been the only one who was able to detect him where he hid, and that ability cost him his life.
He listened as a line of three cars raced past him, no doubt
headed toward the house. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out someone was coming for David, leaving them no other option but to relocate him.
He flew after the third car just low enough no one would see him. Once he was in range, he shot out its back tires and watched as it swerved off the road into a ditch. Two enforcers exited the broken vehicle, bracing themselves for an attack and Tyrin delivered. He descended upon them, his dagger slicing through flesh and fire of the whip searing their skin as he tore into them.
Had he been any other angel, they would have overwhelmed him, but he was Tyrin, son of Skye and Antony, two of the first ever created. His strength far surpassed theirs. He made quick work of them, breaking bones and ensuring they wouldn’t be an immediate threat. Once he was finished, he flew away from the unconscious angels. There was more work to be done.
Taking flight, he went after the second car, but it was no use. Both the first and second car were abandoned during the fight. They sat empty on the side of the road less than a mile away from the building.
Tyrin smirked before changing direction. He’d known the cars would be a decoy to lure him back to the building while another vehicle sped through the back roads toward the freeway. It was amazing the arrogance of some people. They’d detailed their plans as David listened on, committing them to memory should there be a chance he could use it. Rene had been more than happy to part with that bit of information.
He flew as close to the freeway as he couldn’t without being seen, the allowed his ears to scan each vehicle as they passed. It was torture. From a woman cursing her husband out for forgetting their anniversary to the shrill unearthly noise coming from a teenage girl trying to belt out Whitney, his ears were in agony. Still, he searched, waiting for the signal Rene had passed on to David. After nearly forty minutes, he almost gave up until he heard it.
Tap. Tap. The rhythm was unmistakable. It was the rhythm of a song his sister had written years before. No other being knew the melody.
He followed the sound to a white sedan turning cautiously on the freeway. There were only two passengers. David, who sat in the backseat, tapping away at the door and the driver, no doubt another enforcer he’d quickly be able to dispatch of.
He scanned the skies for any sign they were being followed. There was none, which seemed odd to him. They’d never have allowed a single enforcer to escort David unless…
Tyrin flew just close enough to get a glimpse of the person behind the wheel. Long chestnut hair covered her face, but it was the tattoo swirling along her shoulder that gave her away.
Not believing what he his eyes were telling him, he ventured close enough he could see bright purple eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror.
She jerked the wheel to her right, cutting off an SUV as she exited the freeway. He followed her onto a dark street, landing when she cut the engine and exited the car.
Sure enough, it was her. Blood pumped through his veins as his heart raced. Last he’d heard, she’d disappeared three years before and everyone had assumed she was dead.
Purple eyes pierced him as blue smoky tendrils crept down her arms.
“They told me you were dead,” her soprano sang to him as he took her in, the sight of her both exciting and him.
He didn’t know what to think or feel as he watched her reach for her swords and walk toward him. He wanted to tug her into his arms and hold her close, while simultaneously wanting to see her blood coating his dagger. It was a love/hate relationship that spanned the very fabric of time, and even after all the years they’d spent apart, she still had that effect on him.
It was no wonder the council didn’t have her followed by enforcers. If anyone could take on Tyrin, it was her. His heart. The only woman he’d ever cared about.
Myleah.
Part Three
The Descent
I’ve heard of hell. I’ve heard of the pain and anguish the unworthy suffer, the fire and brimstone that make up the cells of thousands of tortured souls. I’ve heard all about it.
What they don’t tell you, however, is the pain of torture was nothing compared to the emptiness suffered when the creator withdrew from you. The way it eats at you piece by piece until you’re numb to everything but that all-consuming loss. The fires of hell were no match for the loss of one’s soul.
I’ve felt that pain as I fell, far from the home I’d always known and far from his grace. I could feel my soul pulling away from me, inch by inch, as I made my descent to a place I’d never wanted to be. His presence lingered for but a moment, long enough for me to feel that last shred of hope thrum through me as I reached toward heaven. It was gone the moment I hit the cold dead Earth and with it, all the light.
I was thrown into a sea of darkness and despair so tangible I felt the weight of it pushing against my back. My breath rushed from my lungs as angel upon angel fell on top of me, crushing me to the ground in a crumple of broken limbs and wings. I’d wondered if it would ever stop, if I would ever be free of the anguish that consumed every part of me as I laid pinned to the ground.
Were we in hell? No. Hell would have been far too kind for what we’d done. – Myleah
Twenty-Three
Myleah opened her eyes, squinting as the afternoon sun pricked at them. She rolled to her side, grimacing as pain shot through every muscle in her body. The fall had been hard, tearing her away from the only home she'd known and disconnecting her from her soul, but the landing had been worse. She'd landed on her side upon dirt and rock, the jagged edges tearing into her skin and forcing her bones to crack from the impact.
Pushing herself from the ground proved much more difficult than she'd imagined. She could feel the Earth's gravity pressing down on her, keeping her in place. That combined with a few broken ribs and a wave of dizziness saw her tumbling back to the ground, her head bouncing off the jagged edge of a rock. She cradled her head, calling out as the pain seared through her in a blind fury. She could feel the warmth of blood as it flowed from the fresh wound. Pressing her fingers to the wound, she felt the blood coating them as they pushed and prodded to assess the damage. Fragmented bone was swept away as her fingers fumbled with the area, a clear indication she'd managed to fracture her skull. With all the wounds she'd already suffered, it would be the hardest to heal. But it would heal. Of this she was certain as she pulled on her power of ice to cool the heat that radiated there.
She tried to stand again, her legs shaking violently beneath her the more weight that was added to them. She called upon every ounce of strength she had left to remain upright. She could feel the muscles in her side and chest knitting themselves back together as her ribs began to set themselves. It was painful, but after the fall she'd taken, she wouldn't complain. Instead, purple eyes scanned her surroundings, taking in the sight before her.
Unlike most, she'd refused to release her wings, and looking around, she'd knew she'd been right. Bodies of the others laid in heaps of broken wings and bones, blanketed by dark feathers. She would've thought them dead were it not for the chorus of pained moans, sobs, and screams that escaped them. Others were seated together, their arms draping each other as they sought comfort she knew none of them could provide. Even surrounded by others of her kind, she felt the loneliness the loss of her soul and her connection to the creator caused. She felt the hole it left in her heart and the loss of hope.
Tears stung her eyes. Never once had she realized the sacrifice she was taking by standing up for the others. But as the emptiness within her swelled, hollowing out everything she'd once been, she knew she'd made a mistake. She knew she was the cause of her own pain, of the darkness that dwelled within the hollowed confines of a broken heart.
She took a tentative step, hoping her legs wouldn't give out beneath her. When they didn't, she took another. Myleah had no clue where she was going, but anywhere was better than where she was. She stepped over a crying woman, careful not to step on her wing which was twisted beyond recognition.
A strong hand wrapped
around her ankle as she passed, the fingernails digging into her flesh. She winced as the pain from it gripped her, jerking her leg free. Looking down, she regarded the woman with malice before she thought better of it. The woman had meant no harm. Hazel eyes, wet with tears, implored her to answer questions she was ill equipped to answer.
"What do we do now?" the woman voiced, her voice shaky and unsure.
Myleah wanted to reach out to her and toss her arms around her as she'd seen the other's doing. She knew it would do little good but, for a moment, she wondered if it would take away the loneliness enough she could concentrate on something else. Thinking better of it, she turned her back on the woman and walked away. There was nothing she could do.
Clusters of trees lined the edge of the field, some holding the bodies of fallen angels upon their branches. She walked through them, forcing her eyes to stay lowered toward the ground. If any of them had been impaled on the branches, she didn't want to see it. As the fog in her mind began to clear, she stepped forward with renewed purpose in search of Isha. If anyone could help her figure out their next steps, surely it would be one of the original angels. At least that's what she hoped as she trudged forward.
Her mind went back to the moment she'd met the woman. Having never seen an original, she was amazed by the majesty the woman possessed. Dark skin with a reddish undertone glowed as if spattered with flecks of gold. Forest green eyes, a small nose, and thick lips sat in perfect symmetry beneath a blanket of dark curls that fell against her back. Her arms rippled with lean muscle but it didn't take away from her femininity. She exuded power and grace, even as she stood before Myleah, her stance relaxed and comfortable.
Myleah marveled by her presence nearly fell to her knees in reverence. Never before had she seen a sight so beautiful and she felt plain next to the woman. She ran her hand through her own dark locks, wishing it possessed the same volume as Isha's.
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