Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1)

by Olivia Wildenstein

“I’m trying to be a better man, Feather.” His arms came around me, sealing us close. “I’m trying to be worthy of you.”

  I hadn’t thought I could love him any more than I already did, but with that declaration, he conquered every last uncharted territory in my heart.

  Chapter 56

  The following morning over breakfast, Jarod told Muriel to help me pack for a trip. When I asked him where we were going, he said it was a surprise. When I enquired as to how long we’d be gone, he repeated that it was a surprise.

  As he left to attend to some business, I wondered why we were taking a trip. Was guilt fueling this impromptu escapade? Did he think he needed to give me an adventure to make up for being unable to say that he loved me?

  I tried to worm the answer out of Muriel, but she was a tomb. So, I helped her fold the clothing she’d picked out, studying her selection, but it still didn’t give me an inkling as to where we were going. Would we be driving or flying? I’d never been on an airplane, never had use for them because of our Channels.

  Our angelic transport system made me think of the guild and the Ophanim. No one had come to check on me. Not that it surprised me all that much. As long as we had wings, they didn’t worry about us.

  Lunchtime rolled around, and Jarod still hadn’t come home. Growing skittish and bored, I scoured his bookshelves even though I wasn’t sure if reading any of his books was permitted considering the pages crinkled like tissue paper and the leather bindings were stamped in gold. I went down to ask Muriel. When she said yes, I scampered back up the stairs, moved aside the purple-stingray box Jarod used as a bookend, and grabbed Cyrano de Bergerac, placing it delicately inside my bag along with my cell phone before returning to the foyer.

  “Where are you going?” Muriel asked, balancing a crystal vase filled with drooping callas on her hip.

  “Just to the park across the street.”

  Her gaze flicked to Luc, the guard on duty today. “Jarod should be home soon, ma chérie. You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “But I have my cell phone. So—”

  “Leigh, he doesn’t want you going outside the house today.”

  My insides seemed to melt away. “Why?”

  “He didn’t tell me why.” Her attention slid to the two other guards discussing something beside the fountain in the courtyard.

  Their anxious expressions made me think it wasn’t weekend plans.

  My excitement and nervousness turned into dread. Jarod Adler, what are you doing that requires me to stay indoors and hidden from the world? Did I even want to know?

  On wooden legs, I climbed back up the stairs and let my bag drop to the floor. Here I’d thought he was taking me on a romantic getaway, but maybe it was just a getaway.

  I turned on the news, hoping and yet despairing I would hear something that would explain why I had to stay locked up. I’m not sure how long I stood there, in the middle of Jarod’s bedroom staring at the television screen, but I was pretty certain I’d heard all the national happenings at least twice.

  The door snicked open, and I pirouetted. “What in the world is . . .” My voice trailed off when I saw it was Tristan and not Jarod.

  His face was rife with a tension that echoed throughout his entire body.

  Terror seized me. “Is Jarod okay?”

  Tristan shut the door behind him, and my heart leaped into overdrive.

  “Tristan, you’re scaring me. Is he okay?”

  “No, Plume.” He flung my nickname at me as though it were a filthy word. “He’s not.”

  My hand climbed up to my neck as the noose of fear tightened around it. Ninety-six. If he’d— My stomach heaved. I couldn’t even think the word.

  “He’s completely lost it!” Tristan snapped, his long strides eating up the oriental rug, carrying him to where I stood. He poked me in the chest so hard I stumbled backward.

  Lost it? “So, he’s alive?”

  “No thanks to you.” He palmed his silvering strands. “Everything was fine before you showed up. More than fine. Fucking perfect. And then you come in here with your big ideas and big eyes and fill Jarod’s head with ideas, and now we’re all going to be fucked.” He poked me again.

  “Stop touching me,” I said, trying to keep my tone calm, hoping it would calm him.

  Although the Ophanim taught us basic self-defense in the guilds, they urged us to find peaceful ways to resolve conflict, insisting words were more dignified and beneficial than fists.

  An ugly smile sprouted over Tristan’s reedy lips, injecting a crazed gleam into his eyes. Jarod was convinced his walls could protect me from evil. He’d failed to see evil had already breached them.

  “Get out of this room before I call for one of the guards,” I warned.

  “Those guards answer to me, not to you, you little whore.” His hand lurched to my neck and cinched it, and my heart damn near exploded. “But go ahead, Feather.” His manic smile grew and grew. “Scream.”

  I tried to say his name, tried to say stop, but only threads of air slid through my parted lips. I clawed at his wrist. I mouthed Stop, again.

  “Did you say something?”

  Tears pricked my eyelids as his fingers reawakened an ache I’d thought had healed. I realized then that mended wounds were like hidden wings—invisible but ever-present. The thought made my feathers spill from my back.

  If only I could flap them in his face.

  A creak made my gaze fly toward the door. Jarod’s home was old and often popped and groaned, but maybe . . . maybe someone was coming.

  “Jarod’s not done with the meeting he called to ruin our reputation.” Still, Tristan’s gaze flicked to the sealed doors. Had he locked them? I couldn’t remember . . .

  Using his fleeting lapse of attention against him, I shook my head hard and gasped as his fingers snapped off my neck. I was so startled I barely had time to scramble two feet away before he was on me again, collaring me with hands that felt like metal claws. I batted at his arms, but my strength was dwindling along with my supply of oxygen.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll pass out before dying.”

  Dying? He wanted to kill me?

  “By the time he gets home, you’ll be gone. Without a trace. I’m good at making people vanish without a trace. One of my special talents.”

  My fingers scrabbled uselessly around his wrist. Since I couldn’t speak, I implored him to release me with my wet gaze.

  “Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble if you’d died back at the store, but I shouldn’t really be surprised you didn’t. Women are so fucking useless. You give them all the tools, put the fucking knife in their hands and the victim in their lap, and they still manage to botch the job.”

  Was he saying that . . . that he’d . . .?

  “It’s not like I told her to stab you in the heart. Ribs are fucking nuisances. No, I tell her to slit your throat.” His thumb and index finger hardened around my neck, denting my aching flesh. “I even demonstrate on a waste-of-space hobo, and she messes up.”

  My vision grayed, frayed. In one last desperate attempt, my mouth formed the word please. I didn’t want to pass out, afraid of what he was going to do with my body. What if he chained and tossed me into the Seine like he’d done with the woman’s father? The woman he’d sent to kill me. My immortality would allow me to survive, but it wouldn’t melt the chains. It wouldn’t make me magically float up to the surface.

  I searched his pale eyes for a glimmer of hope but found nothing but hatred and a coldness that iced my already clammy skin. His soul was soiled beyond repair.

  Something moved over Tristan’s shoulder. I imagined my oxygen-starved brain had conjured up the disturbance. The room swam, darkened. I fluttered my lashes, fighting the only way I knew how—quietly and steadfastly.

  If I ever made it back to a guild, I would tell the Ophanim they needed to train us better, give us more adequate tools, because not every situation in the human world could be fixed with words and goodness
.

  “To think I brought you to him,” Tristan mused.

  I would’ve found my way to Jarod without his help.

  The same way Jarod had just found his way to me.

  Tristan’s hand was wrenched off my body. I collapsed on the floor, and air streaked down my throat like scalding coffee. The whooshing in my ears distorted Jarod’s shout and muffled Tristan’s squeak of surprise.

  Luc and Muriel rushed into the bedroom. Jarod yelled, and both lunged toward me. Muriel crouched, gathering my hands off my neck to witness the damage, while Luc shielded us, gun aimed at Tristan, who stood so close to Jarod that I was terrified a loosed bullet would injure the wrong man.

  “No . . . gun,” I croaked.

  Jarod’s fist flew into Tristan’s jaw, snapping his head sideways and sending him stumbling backward through the gaping French windows and onto the balcony. Muriel helped me onto my feet, binding her arm harder around my rib cage when I teetered like a drunk.

  For all his putrid intentions toward me, I didn’t think Tristan would harm Jarod. I tried to reach over and draw the guard’s arms down, but my trembling hand swiped air before uselessly tumbling back against my side.

  Jarod backed Tristan against the limestone guardrail, hands fastened around his throat.

  My heart was still banging too hard to hear any of the words they exchanged, but at least, my vision had cleared. Muriel pivoted my body away from the tussle and attempted to drag me out of the bedroom, but I dug my heels into the rug.

  “Muriel, I need . . . to help . . .”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Leigh.”

  “But Jarod . . .”

  “Jarod will be fine.”

  A thunderous grunt slashed the air, and I flipped around in Muriel’s arms, my wing bones jostling her.

  That sound had come from Jarod.

  My pulse knifed through me, blighting the gasp tearing up my throat, transforming it into a frozen puff of air.

  Only one man remained on the balcony.

  Chapter 57

  I flung Muriel’s arm off my body and sprinted toward Jarod, who was clutching the stone guardrail as though contemplating jumping.

  “Get away from here, Feather,” he growled between rasping pants.

  His gaze was fused to the fountain, to Tristan’s body that lay unmoving inside, legs sprawled and submerged, arms stretched over his head pillowed on the rim. Blood glistened on the gray stone, clouded the water like ink. I shuddered, bringing my attention back to Jarod.

  “Get away from me, Leigh!”

  A rib-cracking sob fractured the air, made his big body quake.

  I placed my hand on his hunched spine. He spun and tossed my arm away, glaring down at me and my wings with a violence that stopped my heart.

  I magicked them away.

  “Go! Fucking go, Feather!”

  He hated me. Even though I hadn’t pushed Tristan over the railing, it was my fault he’d died.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Sorry?” He grabbed his hair and yanked so hard I thought he’d come away with handfuls. “You’re not the monster; I am! Now, go before you end up like him.” He gestured wildly below. “Like her!” The statue. Lifeless and wingless.

  Jarod’s men rushed to the fountain, belting the guns they must have raised to cover their boss. Amir pushed two fingers against Tristan’s arched neck. He looked up and shook his head. Jarod let out an inhuman sound before seizing one of the sconces woven into the ivy and ripping it off the wall. He flung it over the railing where it smashed at the feet of one of his guards. The man hopped away to avoid the projectiles ricocheting off the cobblestones.

  We all froze, all waited to see what Jarod would do next, what he would throw next, because the anger was only just beginning to well up inside of him. His fingers flexed into fists that seemed intent on pummeling someone else. From the way he still glared my way, I imagined that someone was me.

  He yelled at Amir to get Tristan out. The big man curled his arms underneath Tristan’s slumped shoulders and hoisted him out of the fountain, streaking the gray stones with blood. The tang of salt and copper filled the air until breathing became almost painful, but I labored through it, battling down the nausea, pushing away all signs of weakness.

  I needed to stay strong for Jarod, because I feared Tristan’s death might destroy my sinner’s good intentions and scar his soul all over again.

  Blood seeped from his knuckles, or was it from his palms? Had he broken his skin on the glass sconce or on Tristan’s skin?

  His feral eyes were still on mine, as though challenging me to look away first. Didn’t he know I was more stubborn than he was?

  Every tendon in his neck stood out as he panted. I took a step forward slowly, afraid that if I approached too fast he’d spook and run. But he didn’t move. I took another step, and then another, until I was only a millimeter away. His body shook so hard I wrapped my arms around him. I waited for him to push me away. To yell at me to leave. To blame me.

  Instead, his body melted over mine, his head sagging into the slope of my neck. His sobs tangled in my long hair, matting it to my bruised neck. Not thinking I could hold him up much longer, I guided him to the lounger and eased him down, then climbed onto his lap, and curled my body around his, tucking his head under my chin, letting his broken heart bleed over my writhing one.

  Muriel stood beside the French doors, mouth tight, eyes bright. Was she grieving for Tristan or for Jarod? Heaving a sigh, she closed her eyes, and a tear glistened out.

  Jarod spoke against my chest, but his words were garbled by the wet silk.

  I pressed him away lightly. “What did you say?”

  “Montparnasse. I need—to call—”

  “I’ll call the undertaker, Jarod,” Muriel said, understanding.

  “I promised him—a place in—” A cry lurched out of him. He banded his arms around my back and crushed me against him, screaming his pain into my chest.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Muriel said. She was about to retreat into the bedroom, but came toward us instead. She peeled his head off my chest and cupped his jaw. Her thumb stroked his cheekbone. “He brought this upon himself, Jarod. You are not to blame.”

  “I killed him, Mimi. My best friend,” he wailed. “My brother.”

  “He was never your brother. He never had your best interest at heart. He never gave you an ounce of all you gave him.”

  “He saved me. So many times.” Jarod’s hoarse voice scraped the air.

  “And I’ll always be grateful for that, but he only saved you because he saw his own salvation within the walls of this house . . . within you.” She stroked his cheek again. “He never allowed you to get close to people. Our relationship infuriated him. More than once, I feared he’d suggest firing me.”

  “He did suggest it.”

  She grunted. “Of course he did. I hope you know that even Amir with his big muscles and scary guns couldn’t pry me away from you.” Her gaze drifted to me then, and as though her eyes were connected to Jarod’s, his moved to my face too. “I didn’t want to speak out of line before, but that day in the shop . . . the way Tristan acted . . .” She let her voice trail off, but her accusation was loud and clear.

  Jarod sketched the shape of my face with his fingers, dragging away a lock of hair and tucking it behind my shoulder with heartbreaking gentleness. “I figured that out too late.”

  Had he heard Tristan confess, or had he guessed this some other way? Not wanting to bring it up, not now, perhaps, not ever, I lowered my gaze to his Adam’s apple that bobbed sharply, as though shoving down a bolt of grief.

  “Doesn’t make me less of a monster, though,” he murmured.

  I whipped my gaze back to his. “You’re not.”

  “I just broke someone’s spine, Feather. Someone, who in spite of everything, meant something to me.”

  “Saved me from committing a felony,” Muriel muttered.

  “Mimi!” Jarod
gasped.

  “What? You don’t think I’d be capable of murder? Do you think your uncle hired me because I was good with baby bottles and whisks? He hired me because he’d heard I’d put a bullet through my abusive father’s brains.”

  Jarod’s body stilled beneath mine. “You never told me that.”

  “And I’ll never tell either of you any more about it.” Her lips pinched at the memory. “Now, I’ll go call the undertaker. You two go back inside and get rid of your guilt. I won’t have you moping around the house, Jarod. I raised a tough man. A good man. And I couldn’t be prouder about what you did today, and I’m not talking about—” She cocked her head toward the courtyard.

  Jarod gulped. “How did you hear?”

  She tapped one finger over his scrunched brow. “You really think anything in this house escapes me?” She pressed a kiss where her finger had been, then turned and left.

  Somewhere below us, the guards spoke in hushed tones but turned silent when Muriel started barking orders.

  “And here I thought I was the big boss,” Jarod mumbled.

  Even though so many things about this moment were terrible, I smiled. “I better not get on her bad side, huh?” I bumped his nose with mine.

  He grunted.

  “Jarod, what was she talking about before?”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “Evidence surfaced today. Enough to revive a cold case and destroy a political career.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “The prime minister”—his gaze set on the stone guardrail, and I knew he was thinking of Tristan—“he’s going away for a long time. Forever, really. Tristan wasn’t on board with my decision and stormed out of the meeting. I should’ve followed him sooner. Before . . .” His thick lashes swooped over his reddened eyes.

  I kissed his temple.

  For a long beat, neither of us spoke. Then, I sighed. “And I should’ve tried to help him.”

  His lashes lifted. “He wouldn’t have accepted your help, Feather. He was much too proud to accept anyone’s help. Especially a woman’s.” Jarod examined my throat, then caressed it, and although my skin felt raw, his touch was soothing. “They didn’t come for him.”