Havenwood Falls High Volume Two

by Cameo Renae

  “Viv—”

  “Tell me the truth, or let me go.” Fear clings to her words the way perfume clings to her body. Her fear takes root deep within me, urging my angelic side to protect her. Her scent, though . . . that damn minty ginger scent. It digs into my soul and makes me oh so human.

  There are rules in Havenwood Falls. Rules governing the supernatural. There are rules with Father. I fear his rules more than the Court’s.

  I speak the truth regardless.

  “You were attacked.” My arms drop as I move back a half step.

  “Attacked?” Uncertainty clouds her face. She wets her lips and swallows. “By what?”

  Bear, dragon, mountain lion, wolf—you name it, it could have attacked her. A shifter or an animal with no supernatural tendencies. Sure, Breck, while you’re at it, why don’t you scare the hell out of her and mention vampires, demons, and witchcraft, too?

  “If I had to guess, I’d say a small bear.” Cubs aren’t too scary. It’s reasonable.

  “A bear? In December?” She scowls.

  “Right. Maybe a wolf or fox? I didn’t see it. I heard you scream, and by the time I found you, it was gone and—” My explanation ends there.

  “I was out for a run. I didn’t see it.” She tugs at her sweater sleeves, pulling them over her fists. “I don’t remember anything. I just, I woke up and—” She clears her throat, changing her tone and line of questioning. “I screamed, and you just happened to be nearby?”

  “I was.” Her nose scrunches as a dubious little twist of her mouth appears. I raise a brow. “You’re not the only person who enjoys exercising in the woods, you know.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  There’s no escaping the ego that tugs a smile across my lips. “I saved you.”

  She inhales through her nose, her shoulders lifting as a hand moves to her side. Her fingers brush her ribs where she was injured. “My clothes?”

  “Ruined.”

  The door knob jiggles behind Vivienne’s back, followed by two knocks. She steps away, glancing at me before looking to the door. I still—waiting for her next move.

  “Someone’s in here,” she says after a moment, and I release a relieved breath.

  She’s not running. It’s a start. The reaper is nearby. His imprint, much like Vivienne’s fear, is detectable in the air—a unique marker with the sole purpose of notifying other angels of Death’s presence. He is nearby, and he shouldn’t be. He should have left Havenwood Falls, or moved on to the next soul in need of reaping. He shouldn’t be lingering around Vivienne. The way he looked at Vivienne, the possessive hunger in his gaze . . . Anger spreads across my shoulders, and I roll them, forcing my wings to remain concealed.

  Vivienne closes the gap between us, her head tilting back. “Why did you save me?”

  If only I knew. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “We’re not friends, Breckin. Granted, we’re not enemies, but you’ve never given me a reason to believe you’re the knight-in-shining-armor type.”

  “But I’ve given you a reason to think I’m not?” Her comment affects me. I’m not one who is affected by humans. It matters none to me, yet I ask for clarification anyway. “That’s what you think of me?” She moves back, her head high, her eyes searching for answers she will not find, and I move forward. “You know so little of me, but you think I’d leave someone for dead in the woods?”

  Her feet still. She sways, her jaw dropping. “I was dying?”

  The answer is in her head. It’s all there. Hints of the afternoon, still frames of the horror. They wait for her to recall them fully, because swiping her memory didn’t work as it should have. The moment she looked through her window last night and her eyes connected with mine, I knew it hadn’t worked. I was cloaked. She shouldn’t have seen or sensed my presence. She heard me laugh at her joke at the store. She felt my presence when I should have been invisible.

  She awakens emotions and instincts I’ve never known. Something happened between us yesterday. I need answers, which means speaking to Father or Elias. And that means having her come with me, because I’ll be damned if I’m leaving her out in the open for a reaper to stalk.

  “Was I dying?” she asks for a second time, her hand grabbing a fistful of my shirt.

  My gut twists. “You were basically dead, Viv.”

  Her head shakes, refusing my words, as her lips tremble and tears form on her dark lashes. “I don’t understand. I don’t—”

  My wings tear at my back, itching for release, and I grit my teeth, holding myself together. “Come with me, and I’ll explain.”

  “I can’t walk out of here with you. I have friends out there, waiting. I’m supposed to go to the movie festival tonight.”

  She’s right. It’s not as though most of the people out there don’t know me. The place is filled with kids from school and other locals. There’s no reason Vivienne and I couldn’t be friendly, but I’m not friendly. It’s not my MO, and her friends would question her endlessly. The fewer questions, the better. I could cloak us, and we could walk out of here together, but that would still leave her friends guessing.

  My mind grapples for a solution. “Doesn’t your mom work night shift at the clinic? Is she working tonight?”

  “Yeah. She’s always on shift, since Dr. Nance died.”

  “Good. I want you to go out there and tell them you don’t feel well, and you’re going to see your mom. Tell them to go to the movies without you. I’ll wait here for a minute, then sneak out and meet you by the front door.”

  Vivienne twists her hair over her shoulder and backs into the door. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.”

  “Trust me.”

  Forcing my hands not to reach for her, I wait as she considers my request. I sense her fear and hear the anxious beating of her heart, but beneath that is more. There’s an acceptance, a light, hiding behind the darkness.

  She cocks her head and grabs a strand of hair, twisting it. “You’ll explain everything?”

  “Everything I can.” Not a total lie.

  Agreeing, Vivienne peeks into the hallway before giving me a look over her shoulder and slipping out the door. I immediately make myself invisible and follow. Skirting around tables and patrons, I head for the exit, all while keeping an eye on Vivienne and her friends. My sensitive hearing picks up their conversation.

  “I got sick in the bathroom,” she says weakly as she stands at the end of the table. “You guys should go to the movies without me. I’m gonna go see my mom.”

  “I’ll drive you over.” The offer comes from Zara, who’s already sliding out of the booth. She holds Vivienne’s jacket out to her.

  “No,” Vivienne says with too much force. “I mean, it’s practically next door. I’ll walk. It’s fine. Plus, if I have the flu, I don’t want you to get sick.”

  “Viv?”

  “I need to go,” Vivienne interrupts, grabbing her bag and cell phone. “I’ll text you.”

  A chorus of goodbyes follow as she heads my way, and I slip out the door before she reaches me, shifting back to visible and smacking into two guys from school.

  “What the hell, Breckin? Where did you. . .” Their words fade as I grab their arms, implanting an alternate memory and sending them on their way as Vivienne appears.

  A rush of energy washes over me at the sight of her. It’s exhilarating and confusing as hell. Most days, the two entities that make up who I am are separate, but more and more, my angelic side takes over. As my divine abilities strengthen, my humanity fades.

  Vivienne makes me human.

  She bites her lip when she spots me, then glances back over her shoulder, and my chest expands. I’ve all but lost the ability to feel over the past few years. Father hates humans—except when he wants them for satisfying his basic desires. He’s deemed them useless. It’s an attitude I picked up. I assumed my angel side felt indifference. It doesn’t. Not with her.

  “You okay?” I ask, holding out my hand.

 
She lifts the strap of her bag over her head, bringing it across her chest, and shoves her hands in her jacket pockets as she looks about. It’s Saturday night, and the drive-in and parking lot are full of people coming and going. The reaper’s presence remains strong out here.

  “Where’s your truck?”

  Dropping the hand I’m still holding out to her like a fool, I turn and head around the back of the building. “We don’t need it.”

  “We don’t need—” Vivienne’s boots crunch the gravel and snow as she follows. “Where are you going? Breckin?”

  I duck behind the fence hiding the restaurant’s dumpsters.

  She grumbles low, too low for human ears, but I hear every word. “What am I doing? Breckin Roberts graces me with his attention, and suddenly I’m swooning and following him into dark alleys, taking his word as gospel. I’m mental, truly mental.”

  “Breckin?” she hisses, coming around the fence.

  “Hold on tight,” I warn, and Vivienne screams as my arms go around her waist and we jump into the air. Her face tucks into my neck, a second scream vibrating against my skin as her feet kick at the air.

  “Viv, it’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” My hand shifts up her back, pressing her closer to my chest. “By the way, I don’t believe that qualified as an alley, and you’re not mental.”

  Vivienne moans. “We’re . . . we’re . . .” She whimpers again, her anxiety skyrocketing.

  “Flying?” I provide helpfully.

  She whines.

  “Open your eyes, Vivie,” I tease, slowing our ascent. Her head shakes beneath my chin, and I chuckle at her mumbled plea. “I already said you’re not crazy, and no, you’re not dreaming. You’re safe, I promise.” Lowering my lips to her ear, I whisper, “Open your eyes.”

  Her arms tense—one around my neck, the other around my back. Her hand moves dangerously close to the joint of my wings and spine as she adjusts her body and lifts her head. Her face is a hair’s breadth from my lips as her chin tips up and her eyes open. Fear reflects at me.

  “You’re wearing some sort of jet pack, right? I’ve seen those invention shows. The military make them, and rich people buy them as toys. You’re rich, your dad travels the world . . . he brings you expensive toys—” Her high-pitched rambling draws another smile to my lips. If she’d stop talking, she’d hear the beat of my wings against the air. She continues.

  “Don’t drop me, Breckin. I’m not sure I’m a fan of this. I prefer driving. You have a cool vehicle, a classic even. Couldn’t we have driven? Can you put me down? I mean, can we go back down?” I shift, turning my body under hers as we head east, toward my house. Vivienne squeals, squeezing her eyes closed. “No, no, no. What are you doing? How high are we? Please tell me this is a nightmare. This isn’t real. You’re not here, I’m in bed—”

  I kiss her.

  It’s a simple brush of my lips against hers—one I must rip myself away from, because holy hell, I want more—but she shuts up.

  “Was that not real?” I ask, winding my leg around her calf and locking her closer.

  Her jaw works back and forth. “It couldn’t have been.”

  We glide on the wind, my wings beating once every twenty feet. “Why not?”

  She draws a shaky breath, her hand shifting at my spine, her nails digging into my skin as she clutches tighter. Her lips form a silent O.

  “You’re shirtless,” Vivienne accuses.

  It took her this long to notice? Removing my shirts when I fly is a must, unless I want to shop for new clothes every time my wings make an appearance and rip them in two.

  “I am.” She tilts her head, though she still doesn’t look down. “I’m not wearing a jetpack, either. All you have to do is look beyond my face, and all your questions will be answered.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that.” Wry humor clings to her words. Catching her bottom lip with her front teeth, her eyes slide left and go wide. I still, allowing her a good look at my wings. Her chest expands with her deep inhale.

  “They’re real,” I say preemptively. “Not some expensive toy my father bought me.”

  “You have wings.” The rhythm of her racing heart tugs at my angelic senses. My palm aches to press against her chest, to memorize the song each beat creates. Blood rushes to her face, and I grin.

  “You like them.”

  Her head whips around, her blush deepening. “They’re beautiful,” she admits. “But I don’t—”

  “Crap.” A dark shadow circles a hundred yards behind us. I should have caught his presence sooner. Vivienne has me off my game. “Close your eyes and hold on tight.”

  I push her head to my chest and bank left, flying toward Mount Alexa and over the falls. We pick up speed as I lead the reaper away from my house and the town. The Court of the Sun and the Moon would not look favorably on a Saturday night fight between angels in the square. Searching out a spot, I locate a small clearing in the trees deep in the forest, near the northernmost ridge, and land.

  Vivienne’s legs give out as her feet hit the snow. I loosen my hold, giving her room to stand on her own.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  I push her toward a wide tree. How do I explain what she needs to know?

  “He’s here,” Vivienne says as her cold fingers clutch my bicep. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she’s putting pieces together. “He has wings, too,” she says, looking over my shoulder.

  Deep rolling laughter sounds behind me. I turn and face the reaper, who’s taken the shape of an unfamiliar teenage boy.

  My hand tightens around Vivienne’s. “You can’t take her.”

  “Can’t I?” His eyes flick over our heads. A snap reverberates through the forest as branches twist and break above us. We dodge to the right as a pile of snow and bark land in our footprints.

  “You would kill her?” That’s not allowed. Reapers do not determine death. He risks the wrath of a guardian angel; he risks the wrath of me. Fury builds. “You do not want to play with me, reaper.”

  He slinks forward. “You stole her from me.”

  I push Vivienne behind me. “And I would do it again.”

  Fallen Angel

  Vivienne

  Angels growl.

  This little tidbit pops into my mind as the man with glowing blue eyes snarls.

  Angels.

  At least, I suppose that’s what Breckin is—an angel.

  The ground spins, and I focus on the dark wing sheltering me. My wide eyes follow the copper-tipped feathers to where they connect with Breckin’s spine. They were iridescent in the moonlight, but in the shadows of the woods, they’re inky black perfection against glowing skin. The impulse to stroke them is maddening.

  “You cannot protect her forever, son of angels.”

  Breckin’s wings twitch.

  I slide closer, touching his lower back as he laughs. “Now, I’m sure you’re familiar enough with our kind to know your challenge will not be taken lightly.”

  Cringing at Breckin’s snide tone, I step sideways for a better look at the angel threatening us. Breckin’s wing blocks me, extending like a wall. My stomach flutters at his protectiveness. This is not the Breckin Roberts I know.

  “She is such a pretty thing. Do you plan on making her your toy?”

  Breckin’s muscles flex beneath my fingertips, as a hair-raising snarl vibrates in his chest. “Do you plan on dying today, reaper?”

  There’s the Breckin I know. Why am I suddenly finding him hot? Well, he’s always been hot, but now he’s Channing Tatum wearing a welding mask hot.

  The other angel grunts. I lift on my toes, but Breckin is too tall, and his wings are too effective at blocking my view.

  “What is your allegiance, boy? A son of angels in love with a human? They will kill you once they find out. I will take her soul from you soon enough.”

  A gust sprays fine snow as my breath catches. In love with a human? My soul? Breckin steps forward, allowing me a glimpse of this ot
her angel. His wings, smaller and lighter in color compared to Breckin’s black ones, stir the air. He levitates before us, and his wings still, as though he was merely waiting to catch my gaze. When he does, it’s as though he sees through me. His eyes hold me captive.

  “Do not let the half-breed taint that soul of yours, my sweet.”

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Breckin grabs my wrist. “Vivienne.”

  I stop. I’ve stepped in front of Breckin—and don’t recall moving.

  “Soon enough.” The dark angel smiles. Cool, finger-like strokes cross my mind—caressing, invading—and I stagger back, my hand against my forehead, as he shoots into the sky.

  Transfixed, I stare after him, anticipating his return. Moonlight, stars, and wisps of clouds hover above the trees. No shadow angel. No blue eyes.

  “Viv?” Breckin cuts through my haze. He cups my shoulder, and tingles race along my arm.

  “What is this, Breckin?” My sanity hangs by a thread as questions tumble forth. “You’re an angel? He’s an angel? He wants to kill me? Tried to? How did you steal me from him? What’s going on?”

  “You’re shivering.” Breckin steps forward—his wings lowering and folding closer to his body—as I move back.

  “I’m fine. Answer my questions.”

  “I will, once you’re warm.”

  I can’t see his face in the shadows of the trees, but I can read his voice. He’s concerned, which is funny, considering his lack of clothing. “You’re shirtless.”

  He releases a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, I am. I’m also not prone to hypothermia.”

  “Because you’re an angel?” I prod.

  Breckin sighs, his warm breath sending a puff of smoky air between us. “Part angel, yes.”

  Part angel. Half-breed.

  I sniff, my nose running, thanks to the cold. Flexing my stiff fingers, I look about. We’re high on the mountain. The air is thin, the trees scarce, the wind gusts consistent— how did I not notice this before?

  Taking advantage of my preoccupation, Breckin’s wings surround me, drawing me near as he bridges the gap between us. He’s taller than me. Tall enough for me to fit under his chin as I walk into his arms and press my cheek against his unnaturally warm skin. My fingers lock behind his back, and he leaps at my icy touch. His dark wings envelop me—a Breckin cocoon, of sorts—and an overwhelming mix of tranquility and trepidation washes over me. Being in his arms is so right, yet I’m terrified. Not of him, or what he is—but of what’s happening. I fight the pull coaxing me to stroke his wings as his feathers ruffle. His hands shift on my back, one low and one high, his fingers slipping under the hair at my nape and holding my head against his chest.