by Bryl R. Tyne
Table of Contents
Copyright
The Complete Zagzagel Diaries
Forsaken
Denial
Desperate
Lost
Broken
Loved
The Complete Zagzagel Diaries
By Bryl R. Tyne
Copyright 2014 by Bryl R. Tyne
Cover Copyright 2014 by Untreed Reads Publishing
Cover Design by Dara England
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
Previously published in ebook format:
Forsaken, 2010
Denial, 2010
Desperate, 2010
Lost, 2010
Broken, 2010
Loved, 2011
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Also by Bryl R. Tyne and Untreed Reads Publishing
The Secret Ingredient
www.untreedreads.com
The Complete Zagzagel Diaries
Bryl R. Tyne
Forsaken
Just do it…
How apropos.
Above the nineteenth floor, on the verge of his nineteenth birth date, he stepped up onto the ledge, steadied his balance. Perspiration and tears trickled evenly along his chiseled face. Eyes, once stunning blue, dulled with each spent teardrop.
Perched less than a shoulder’s width away, I listened. His most private thoughts were not immune to me or my prying. Lord—meant with the utmost respect, of course—the man was a work of art. Absolutely beyond compare.
As was his pain, or so he thought.
I had endured far worse, though not mortal, than anything he was capable of imagining. Agony and confusion engulfed him, inflamed his need for relief. Forsaken—he privately professed.
Obviously, I’d failed at instilling my fine wrangling spirit.
Feathers ruffled. My shoulders tightened. Apparently, my guidance wasn’t worth a flip these days. With a stretch and a snap, loose underlining flew in the air about me, fluttering, drifting on the breeze. Despite knowing the young man’s agony, his naivety sickened me.
Try living the pain of ten thousand lifetimes, I desperately wished to tell him.
What I wouldn’t give for an hour in his shoes, fifteen minutes inside that skin-tight material covering such perfectly honed thighs. He was so beautiful, so mortal, so intelligent—
“Just. One. Step.” As his garbling knocked me from my reverie, his right foot slipped.
All right. I concede—he was a fucking moron.
Wings refolded neatly, I appeared beside his unsure legs and, with a stretch, settled, ass on the cool stone, feet dangling free over the edge. “It’s a doozy.”
His body trembled. With fear or anticipation, I wasn’t sure which. For such a young pup, he had balls of steel. I’d give him that. He didn’t as much as flinch at the sound of my voice nor turn to eye me as he asked, “What’s it to you?”
What was it to me? More like, what was he to me, though I’d never confess. That revelation, I must do everything in my power to ensure never left my lips.
From before he’d taken his first breath, I was there—as watcher, as guardian—ensuring no harm befell even one lock of his hair. Wasn’t my idea to pamper him though—to spoil the kid to—to this point of misadventure. If I’d had my way, I would’ve let him learn from a few tangles, maybe get bullied a time or two—you know, toughen him up a bit.
Fingers curled over the edge, I leaned to assess his chosen path. The expanse of reinforced concrete marked his landing—an empty courtyard in the dead of night, no witnesses, no one to care. Of course not, according to him, no one ever cared. If only he knew….
Desperate for relief or not, he had wits enough to plan his perfect demise. If the two-hundred-fifty-foot-plus fall failed, the sudden stop would surely do the trick.
Maybe I shouldn’t have regarded the thought of Bret having never as much as having stubbed his toe as entertaining, but I did. Humans are a funny lot. Besides, I had simply followed orders; and I’d remind Big Papa of that too—should things go amiss tonight.
Poor kid. The determined set of his jaw showed in brief glimpses through his wind- whipped hair. Sometimes, even I questioned Papa and his motives. He thought he knew everything.
“What do you want?” With his outburst, Bret’s arms flailed and he struggled to maintain his balance.
Did I notice a hint of trepidation?
“I want you to rethink your decision,” I told him. Seemed like a simple request to me.
“Just go away!” He drug the back of his hand across his face as he caught his breath—a weak attempt to hide the moisture. For a second, I thought he may look my way, but he turned back to the night. Silent, once again.
In all honesty, I was forbidden to fully answer his questions. But to just go away? Well, I hated to inform him, but…no can do.
I’d cleared my plans for the evening. And I’d feed Big Papa the usual appeasing line—nothing as entertaining as having a front-row seat to a quitter going through personal hell.
Yet, those were not my intentions. Not tonight.
Bret wasn’t a quitter; confused—full of assumptions and of himself—and utterly void of hope, but never a quitter. Not until now.
His rose-colored glasses, once rosier than any mortal’s to date, were now cracked, discarded, forgotten in the debilitating accusations thrust on him by his once beloved parents. Parents, whom Bret had chosen to forgo his senior year in high school to help support. Parents who once adored their beautiful child, now proclaimed to abhor him, simply for who he was.
No, I wasn’t going anywhere, not if I could rekindle one flicker of the hope that Bret once clung to like a lifeline. Hope enough for even the most jaded to catch a glimpse.
If only I were allowed to answer his most troubling questions. I’m sure plenty haunted his mind as he stood defiant on that ledge.
Parents. Papa knew it would sure make things a helluva lot easier.
Of course, making anything easy was never Big Papa’s style. His sadistic tendencies often clashed with his benevolence. Many times I wondered exactly which side he played for. Don’t say much, simply encourage—don’t supply definite answers, only hints—above all else, never ever touch… His list of rules went on for eternity. Typical.
Watching as Bret teetered, helpless to the young man’s stubbornness, for the first time in almost two decades I regretted taking him as my ward. Though I knew him and his needs better than anyone, including the Big Cheese in all his stinking glory—figuratively speaking, my hands were tied. I hated my job, my esteemed position, this right?
Right.
Thanks to his wonderful parents, Bret battled the worst of two demons—rejection and loneliness. If asked, I’d tell him—rejection’s a rip-your-heart-out-and-force-feed-it-to
-you-cold bitch. And loneliness? Well, that’s just a neck-deep wade in that bitch’s cesspool. Believe me, with all my knowledge, most of which I considered useless by the way, I knew.
I had known the sting of loneliness more often and more intimately than any mere mortal. Losing family and friends to bigoted misunderstandings, losing hope to irrational judgments.
Stronger men had survived her wrath too but—I glanced Bret’s direction, scanned his form—not tonight. Too inexperienced, he’d been too sheltered from the, more oftentimes than not, harsh realities of life. No, he would not be one of the stronger. Not without my intervention.
I’d been privy to his deepest workings. While his outward appearance screamed don’t-mess-with-me tough, his heart—his motivations—his dreams…well, he was a romanticist. Life was meant to go a certain way, relationships meant to follow a certain path.
Common sense dictated differently, of course.
But then that argument never fared well. Not even for me. I chuckled to myself. In reality, Bret wasn’t much different than his parents—or Big Papa.
“I’m doing this,” he said.
Inwardly, I sighed. Of course he was, or I wouldn’t be here now, would I?
Sent intact, with my infinite wisdom, to pick up the pieces, I was. Only, which pieces were never specified. I reiterated that arguing point to myself, strapping it in place with the rest of my accoutrements, as I shifted to a squat upon the balls of my feet. Despite Papa’s warning, tonight I would forsake his ridiculous rules. Anything, for Bret.
“Have you thought how Eric may feel?” I asked.
Bret’s self-pity let up—for a second. “Eric? My boss?”
“Yes.” Succinctly, I answered, hesitant on the details, not at Big Papa’s instruction, but of my own accord. Sue me; ignore me; don’t forgive me—whatever. I was jealous. “I know you’re fond of him.”
“Yeah….” But seconds later, Bret’s self-pity swallowed him whole. “Like he even knows I exist.”
“Do you know that to be fact?” I tried to stall the inevitable, knowing Bret hadn’t the foggiest notion his supervisor adored him. He’d never taken the chance to even drop a hint the man’s way. I drew back on my haunches, ready to bolt. “Always been fond of closure, myself.”
“Closure?” He scoffed, screaming through the snot and the tears. Over and again, his fingers clenched then uncurled as if pumping up courage. “You think I don’t know? He’s just like everyone else!”
At least I pulled an argument from him. We may not have to go through this after all. But no, he did not know that one person loved him more than life…loved him…more than I did.
Eric was not like Bret’s everyone else. Why couldn’t I just tell the boy? Again, I cursed Big Papa and his rules; or was my hesitance my own?
What it must be like to experience such an exquisite creature, take him in my arms, pull him to me, share warmth and love in nature’s most glorifying act… I could only dream as I studied those perfect hands imagining them roaming over me as mine basked in the feel of his exquisite flesh.
“I’m just saying—”
“I don’t care what you’re saying!” With his outburst, this time he spun my way. “Can’t you see? I have no one! There’s —?”
His clouded gaze drank me in, from my toes curled over the edge, upward and over my tensed thighs. Hesitating on my face, he assessed me; and, I was hopeful, my intent.
Can you see you in my eyes?
I prayed for him to see me, to read me, to know my longing, as, his footing more unsure with each shift in the breeze, he continued to study me, seemingly entranced with the view.
With curiosity and surprise, I’m sure he’d meant to hide, he asked, “A-an angel?”
“Zagzagel. But friends call me, Zag.” As I spoke, I made an effort not to move, not to startle.
“Heh.” Expression hardening again, he pulled away, stepped back. “Here to see me off? Make sure I end up where I belong?”
His parents’ words, I was certain. More to myself than to Bret, I said, “Awful bitter for one so young,” then chastised myself for speaking my thoughts when he turned away. I liked knowing his eyes beheld me. Damn me and my big mouth.
“Whatever. You don’t get it.”
Oh…but I did.
Only, my being immortal, I didn’t have the luxury of taking my own life, or I might have—tens of thousands of years ago. Truly, he hadn’t a clue to whom he spoke to with such condescension.
“Ever heard of Jagniel?” A chill raced through me as the name of my fallen beloved tumbled from my lips—even after all the millennia. I stopped myself from saying more, wanting to know if Bret had heard me—really heard me.
A slight shrug and a quick roll of his eyes skyward informed me, he had. Though he’d probably never heard of Jagniel—not many had—I was playing up the point more for effect than for detail.
“Try living, banned for eternity from the one you love.”
His shoulders shook as his tears multiplied into a river. Maybe I’d do better to simply shut my mouth—
“At least…” Choking, he covered his face with his hands, drawing into himself, as his wailing picked up on the wind. “You had love—”
I leapt with the untimely gust, following his panicked scream. He hadn’t meant to let go—he slipped. That’d be the story I’d recount to Big Papa, anyway.
Rendered invisible in flight, inches beneath him, I considered how truly alone he must right now feel. Legs kicking madly, arms outstretched, reaching, hoping, praying, and for the first time in his nineteen years, truly finding the nothingness he once only thought consumed him—he fell.
We passed the thirteenth story, the twelfth. Just a few more seconds, I’d torment. Precious seconds needed to help him never forget the feeling of true despair. Tenth story. Ninth….
Impact.
The remaining air rushed from his lungs as I embraced him, held him to me and redirected our flight. Wings spread, I swooped upward, supporting his weight. Bared skin from his uplifted shirttails shifted against my chest, my torso…God damn me to hell…this man was fine. “I got you. Don’t worry.”
“Am I dead?” His voice, scratchy and barely above a whisper, trembled. Limp and cold, his body tucked neatly in line with mine.
I turned him, trapping his arms between us, and held on securely. Catching the breeze, with a glide, I took my sweet time to the rooftop from whence the ordeal started, hoping to stretch the minutes. Precious minutes, I feared I should never relive.
And I feared I may never live again, not truly. Not after having this man in my arms, knowing I must relinquish him back to his earthly realm.
“You’re all right.” Softly assuring him, I held on, memorizing the feel of every sinewy inch of that body touching me, the rush of his pulse beating in time with mine, the unmistakable smell of his fear-drenched sweat.
The soft pad of his shoes upon the loose-graveled rooftop followed my touchdown, as we alit above the nineteenth floor. Holding him to me in a final farewell to our touch, his thoughts invaded mine—I cringed.
He had regrets.
Heh. Mortals hadn’t a clue.
If only he could read my mind, know just how much I regretted having broken the rules for him—now that I had to let him go.
Papa forbade I risk taking pleasure in the feel of Bret’s magnificent form one moment longer. I may not ever release the man. Though his body shuddered with tremors of aftershock, I moved to step away.
“No!” He flung his arms around me. Our bodies crashed together. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
Instinctually, my wings wrapped us in a shield from the wind, and, against my better judgment, I embraced him with more earnest than before. Knowing in vain, I prayed. Papa help me.
His head tucked neatly up under my chin, his face against my chest. I held him, stealing this chance. My hands drank in the sweat of his back, as I found my way beneath his shirt. I milked the moment for all its worth—time, my enem
y.
“I don’t want to die.” The warmth of his moist whisper across my chest nearly brought me to my knees.
He pulled me closer, which I didn’t think possible, with that perplexing body of smooth skin and firm muscle tauntingly pressed to mine. I could do little but reply with a deep rumbled groan.
Hair half-covering his tear-streaked face, he drew back and, with red-rimmed eyes, met my gaze. “They hate me. I can’t stand the pain.”
Pain? As usual, he was clueless but to the self, yet so damned beautiful peering up at me with such innocence. Let me taste you…just this once….
I took him. With yearning, he opened to me. Our tongues collided…and, breaking the kiss, I let out a chuckle.
“What?”
“Sorry. You taste like cotton candy.”
His expression morphed from desperate to mischievous. “Bad?”
“Nuh-uh. Good actually—”
Without hesitation, he was on me, his roaming hands seemingly as starved as his hungry mouth. Such passion in his touch, overwhelming; I sought to reciprocate the attention. His perfect ass gripped firmly in my palms, I—
I vanished along with all memory of me, with the outward slam of a steel door.
Bret stumbled, off-balance, dazed, to the rooftop.
“Bret?” Eric, Bret’s supervisor, trotted over then slowed at the young man’s side.
Hands in pockets, he shivered against the cool night air as he assessed the area. Stepping past Bret—now getting to his feet—Eric surveyed the concrete, once named demise, nineteen stories below.
“Whatcha doin’ out here?” he asked, turning and retreating from the roof’s edge. He studied Bret’s confusion as he made his way back, wanting very much to brush away a straggling teardrop but kept to himself.
What are my boundaries, he wondered—words only audible to my ears.
Bewildered, Bret looked to him.
I’m sorry for your confusion, I wished so badly to tell him but knew better, as silently cloaked, I watched.
“Just needed to clear my head.” Hesitantly, he pushed the mussed hair from his face. “I think….”
Take him into your arms, cherish him! My mind screamed to Eric. But he was in no situation to warrant my guidance.