When Death Loved an Angel

by Cheree Alsop

  With Devon it was different. Something in his gaze captured her the first day he walked into the room. When he sat by the bed, her soul had gone out to him, but when he looked up and met her eyes, she felt as though everything within her had changed. She thought about him every moment he was gone, and in the brief times he was at Gregan’s side, she wanted him to stay as long as possible just so she could look at him, watch the intricacies of his smile and the way it creased his face as though he had never smiled before.

  He acted as though each time they spoke was a rare and special occasion, as if he, too, had gone what felt like forever without having a meaningful conversation. Sometimes she felt like he came to see her instead of Gregan, but chased those thoughts away as foolishness. Of course he was concerned about his brother. She was just fortunate he cared so much.

  There was something in his gaze that grew every time he looked at her. At first she hadn’t dared to believe it, but she had seen enough romances in her time as a guardian angel to know the truth. There was love in Devon’s eyes when he looked at her. It showed in his gray gaze when he told her memories. It surfaced in his smile, and warmed the tones of his voice. Devon loved her. She didn’t know what could happen between an angel and a human; all she knew was that every part of her sang when he was in the room.

  Yet Devon was as lost as she was. There was something so haunted in the depths of eyes and in his expression when he thought she wasn’t looking. Devon had experienced hard things. That much was obvious. She wanted very badly to help him past them, to help him smile more, to help him see the world the way she did. She wanted to be the reason for his happiness. Nyra watched down the hallway, daring to admit to herself once and for all that she loved Devon from the depths of her soul.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  DEATH

  Death faded from living into not living as he walked down the road without knowing where he was going. He found himself on the subway again, his thoughts scattered by the never-ending shift of people around him. Those who sat on his seat quickly moved, though no one was there. The few who stood near him got out of the car as quickly as possible. Death didn’t notice. He sat with his head buried in his hands. He saw Nyra’s face again and again, her lips turned toward him, her eyes closed. There was trust on her face. No one trusted Death.

  He got off at the next stop and wandered up the stairs and down a street. He didn’t care where he was going. The names on his arm burned, but he ignored them. He walked through the day until night came again. The questions that raced through his mind didn’t ease with nightfall. He slowly changed into living form, his footsteps falling quietly against the dull echo of dreary buildings.

  “Who am I?” Death asked quietly aloud. “What did I do to deserve an angel?” He shook his head. “I don’t. She would know that the second I touched her, if she lived through it.” He blinked to fight back tears. His eyes burned, his chest ached, and he felt as if every step cost him something important.

  “Look out!” a man yelled.

  Death glanced up in time to see a young girl in the middle of the road. Time slowed around Death, forms blurred, every heartbeat fell like the toning of a grandfather clock.

  The little girl’s mother stood on the sidewalk, one hand to her mouth and the other reaching for her daughter. “Mallory!” The name that came from the mother burned with recognition on Death’s arm. The girl had long brown hair and wide eyes that blinked at the car rushing toward her. The driver of the vehicle slammed on his brakes, but there was no way he would stop in time. Everyone stood frozen the way they had when Zachary Varnes was stabbed.

  Death stepped onto the road before he knew what he was doing. His arm throbbed in defiance of his actions. He grabbed the little girl and spun, pushing her back toward her mother. The car hit him with the force of an explosion. He was hurled backward, and when the car stopped, he was flung onto the asphalt. It bit into his arms and legs like a thousand angry ants. His arm ached and blood flowed down his head. He put a hand to it and felt a deep gash across the side of his forehead.

  “Don’t move,” someone said.

  Another person spoke quickly into a cellphone.

  Death felt a rush of déjà vu, his blurry thoughts recalling the same actions when Gordon went down with a heart attack. Gentle hands pressed a cloth to his forehead.

  “Can you hear me?” a woman asked. She touched his arm, but it hurt and he winced. “It’s definitely broken,” she said gently. “Try not to move it.”

  Death attempted to focus on her face. He blinked and the world swam.

  “An ambulance is on its way,” a man said, dropping to his knees on Death’s other side. He gave Death a tight smile, his eyebrows pinched together with worry. “Hang in there.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone do something like that,” a voice whispered.

  “That was amazing.”

  “He saved that little girl.”

  Death turned his head far enough to see the mother and the little girl on the sidewalk. The woman’s arms shook and tears flowed down her cheeks. Mallory clutched her mother as if she would never let her go. Death breathed out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes against the pain.

  “Stay with me, buddy,” the man called, but Death was already gone.

  ***

  Lights checkered past. Death frowned, then winced at the pain in his head. Commotion whirled around him. He glanced to the right and saw a nurse pushing the bed. A glance to the other side revealed the same thing. Someone pumped an oxygen mask over his mouth. He struggled, but hands held him down. His arm throbbed and something was wrong with his leg. It didn’t feel right and the angle definitely wasn’t normal.

  There was something he needed to remember about the hospital. He tried to think, but his head ached too badly. He lifted a hand to it, but someone caught his arm and forced it back down.

  A feeling ran over him. He looked in a doorway they passed in time to meet a pair of green eyes surrounded by a halo of golden hair. A doctor dropped something and the bed paused. Nyra’s eyes widened with recognition. She took a step toward Death, then her gaze shifted to his arm. He looked down and saw the names written there. Gregan Parker’s was the darkest at the top of the list. Her face went pale.

  Nyra knew he was Death; he read the heartache and loss in her eyes when she realized it.

  The bed was pushed forward. Nyra followed behind; Death could feel her watching him.

  “These wounds are healing,” a nurse said in surprise.

  “What is this?” a doctor exclaimed.

  Nyra knew who he was. He had lied to her, hid the truth from her. She would never trust him again.

  Death fought for breath, then reminded himself he didn’t need it. It was too much.

  Using a strength far greater than his body should have had in its current state, Death shrugged free of the hands and sat up. His right leg repaired itself as he reached for the floor. He rose, stumbled slightly, then forced his body upright and walked away from the gaping nurses and doctors. He wiped the blood from his forehead and met Nyra’s eyes. Fear and disbelief battled so many other emotions in her gaze Death’s heart stuttered. He put a hand to his chest and ducked his head.

  The steps he took away from Nyra were the hardest. By the time he reached the hospital doors, tears were streaming down his cheeks. He turned a corner and disappeared before the hospital staff could find him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ANGEL

  Nyra wanted to run after him and curl into a corner crying at the same time. Everything made sense, yet it was all different. All she had come to believe crashed around her the moment she saw the names written on Devon’s arm.

  When the doctors and nurses rushed him down the hall, she felt it. She had hurried to the door, wondering what drew her there. When she saw Devon on the bed covered in blood and looking panicked and in pain, everything stopped. She wanted to go to him, to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright. She was a comforter
, a guardian. Even if he wasn’t hers to protect, she would do what she could to help him because she loved him.

  Then she saw the names on his arm, the same names he had shown her as Death. Gregan’s name was the darkest, etched painfully in bold letters at the top. When she read his name, her whole world came crashing down around her.

  He was Death. Devon was Death. The black specter who threatened Gregan’s life was the same man who sat beside the bed in mourning. Why had he visited Gregan’s bedside? Why torment her with the fear that he would take Gregan away?

  She knew deep down why he came back. It was in his eyes every time he looked at her. Even as Death, his callous ways had softened. He admitted that she had changed him. He had acted so lost and confused. Yet he had changed her, too. In revealing himself as Death, Devon had shaken her to the core.

  He had seen the way the truth shocked her. He had run because he knew she feared Death for Gregan’s sake. Everything she knew about him clashed together, yet one truth remained. His name was the only lie he had ever told her. The truth had been in his eyes, those lost, searching, haunted gray eyes that stayed the same whether he was Death or Devon. Why hadn’t she seen it?

  Her soul rang with the truth even as she ached at all she had learned. She buried her face in her hands. He was gone; he was never coming back.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  DEATH

  There was something about the subway that always drew him back. Maybe it was the way people sat next to total strangers in companionable silence and he could pretend he was one of them; maybe the whirlwind of emotions and sound helped chase away his torment; maybe brushing elbows with people in the peak of life always rushing somewhere made him feel more alive. Whatever drew him, his feet made it there before the feeling of being alive faded.

  He hunched on a bench. Misery clouded his thoughts and sadness filled the ache in his chest. He saw Nyra’s expression over and over again in his mind. The fear on her face ate at him like nothing else. He had hoped, and, in desperation, prayed that of all people she would be the one who didn’t fear him, who saw him as a being with hopes and feelings, something he hadn’t been until he met her.

  He was overwhelmed with thoughts of his own sins, of the women he had been with, of the things he had done when he was in his living form. As Death, he had never thought of consequences. His existence was never-ending, a continuous shift from soul-taking to pretending to live, experiencing whatever rush he could manage before his body faded and he became the Reaper once more.

  He was suddenly aware of the ground swaying beneath his feet. That was wrong. He shouldn’t have been able to feel the sway. He should have faded from his living form. He sat up slowly. Tears he hadn’t been aware he was crying made trails down his cheeks. His shirt was damp. He looked around. Others in the subway car watched him, not with the fear of someone staring in the face of Death, but with the unease of watching a stranger cry in a subway car.

  He took a shuddering breath and wiped his face with what remained of his sleeve. He looked down at his shirt. It was still torn from the accident. The blood was gone, but his shirt and pants were in tatters. He looked as homeless as he felt. Nyra had become his home. Somehow over the course of their time together, she had become his safe place, the place where he felt the most like himself or who he hoped he was beneath the shadow of his job.

  He had to get back to her. He stood, then grabbed a bar when the subway car lurched. Someone held his shoulder, supporting him. Another took his arm and helped him sit again. He looked at them, amazed as much that they touched him as by the concern on their faces.

  “You look like you could use a break, son,” an elderly man with knowing eyes said. He gestured toward the bench with his cane. “You were there quite a while.”

  A mother with two young children nodded, her eyes warm though she kept her children safely on her lap.

  “It-it’s been a rough day,” Death explained hesitantly.

  “Everyone has those days,” a young woman of about eighteen said. She gave him a smile that was cute and flirty. “You’ll get through it and things’ll be better.” She toyed with a strand of her long black hair.

  He saw himself in her eyes and was surprised at the image they reflected. He looked like a young man who was down on his luck, not the glowering, haughty Death who stole women’s hearts with a smile. There was scruff on his chin and his hair hung long and unkempt, but such was the style of the current generation. His clothing was torn, but it was obvious they had been nice. If he didn’t know himself, he would mistake the young man in her eyes for someone who had gotten mugged or thrown out of his girlfriend’s apartment. Both would explain the crying if he was truly down on his luck.

  He fought back a wry smile and nodded. “Thank you,” he told them. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be alright.”

  He turned back to the window. The answer stared at him through heartbroken gray eyes. He wasn’t alright. Without Nyra, he was nothing, empty, a vessel with nothing inside. He put a hand to his chest but his heart refused to beat. He blinked back more tears. His hand clenched into a fist. He wasn’t worthy of her. She deserved far better than whatever he could offer, but she was all he could think about. He leaned his head against the glass as images of her swirled through his mind.

  He saw her as he had that first day, a fierce protector of the man she guarded. His heart had beat for the first time beneath her glare. His mouth twisted in a sad smile when his heart gave a small forlorn thud, then fell silent again. An ache choked his throat so hard he couldn’t force it down. The subway car slid to a stop and the doors opened with a small hiss. He rose to his feet.

  “Go to her, dude.”

  Death looked down at a man with dreadlocks and sunglasses. The man smiled up at him from his seat on the bench. “Anyone with that look is determined to go back to something.” He looked meaningfully at Death’s clothes. “I take it money isn’t of meaning to you, and you’re too young to live your job like it’s life or death, so it must be a woman. You go to her and never let her go again. Trust me. Any woman worth that look is worth fighting for.”

  A surge of warmth rushed through Death in answer. He nodded. “I will.”

  He ran through the doors and up the stairs from the subway, then stopped. How was it every time he exited the subway he found himself in front of the hospital? He let out a breath of astonishment and walked toward the doors. His steps slowed. Everything felt strange. He was living when he should have been ghosting through the world as Death, taking the souls named on his arm. He glanced down at the list. The names glared back at him, dark and angry for being ignored.

  He leaned against the doors. He couldn’t take anyone else. He couldn’t stand the pain of forcing them from their loved ones, no matter if they were willing or not. He saw the consequences of his actions, the hurt of the people left behind, the memories that were a tapestry of each soul, and the future hung with infinite possibilities. He didn’t want to take that away anymore; because of Nyra, he wanted everyone to live. He closed his eyes. He was Death without the will to kill.

  He stumbled into Gregan’s room. Nyra stood as though waiting for him. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. “You’ve laid me bare; taken everything from me. I have nothing left.”

  Death collapsed into Nyra’s arms. She held him close, feeling him, really feeling him, as she hadn’t felt anyone for so long. She bent her head and kissed his tears, her lips gentle against his cheeks.

  “I’m so lost,” Death choked out.

  “If you have to take him-”

  Death recoiled at the pain in her voice. “No. I’m not taking anyone anymore.” He pulled up his tattered sleeve, revealing the list of names.

  “Your list is full,” she said in whisper. “What happens when it’s full?”

  He shook his head. His hair hid his face from view. “I don’t know.”

  Nyra slid her hand into his, staring at the sensation of her fingers entwined with his.
“I want to show you something.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ANGEL

  Death looked around at the roses and ferns, daisies and tulips that lined the walkway. Nyra wondered if he felt the peace she did, the same peace that ran up her arm from the hand he held and that flowed though her when he met her gaze. It had been so long since she had touched someone that she couldn’t stop staring at their entwined fingers. Her arm tingled pleasantly. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  She spoke softly, “I come here instead of the Place of Accounting.”

  Death frowned slightly as though something was wrong about that. “Why?”

  She refused to meet his gaze. “I can’t go there anymore.”

  Tears touched Nyra’s eyes when Death took her chin gently in his fingers. The care he used was so heartfelt; it was as if he worried he would hurt her. His hands were so gentle. “Nyra, why can’t you go there anymore?”

  Nyra didn’t want to tell him, but his gray eyes pleaded with her, holding her still when everything felt as if it crashed around her. “I’m a guardian angel. My job, as you put it, is to protect the person I’m assigned to and guide them only.” She blinked in an effort to keep the tears from falling. “I broke my oath when I asked you not to take Gregan’s life.”

  Death gave a small smile. “You didn’t ask me,” he said softly, cupping her cheek in his palm. “You flat out forbade me. No one had ever talked to me like that before.”

  Nyra gave the barest hint of a smile in return. “I suppose I was a bit forceful.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Forceful? I’m Death and I was afraid you’d kill me if I touched him.”

  They stared at each other. Death had put the truth in the open, stating it deliberately. “I’m Death.” He watched her warily, unsure how she would respond.