Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1)

by Olivia Wildenstein

  “Who?”

  “The . . . what did you call them again? Malahim?”

  “Malakim. Killing us . . . well, trying to, is a great sin.”

  “Right . . .” He was probably remembering how he’d earned his rank. “So, his soul is . . . lost?”

  “I think so.”

  Jarod nodded slowly. “What about my uncle’s?”

  I tugged my lip inside my mouth, unwilling to answer him and add to his sorrow.

  He looked up at the sky. “If I ever end up there, I’ll know no one.”

  “Can we not talk about you ending up there? Please?”

  He pulled in a big breath. “You’re right. Enough.” He pushed the air back out of his lungs as he stood, taking me up with him.

  I didn’t think he’d finished grieving for Tristan. You didn’t get over someone who’d shared your life for so many years in the space of a few minutes, not even if you were used to death.

  Jarod’s grief was just beginning, and however tough Muriel had raised him to be, he’d break again, and I’d be there, and so would she. Together, we’d pick up the pieces of his guilty heart and glue them back until the day came when he’d stop blaming himself.

  Chapter 58

  The following morning, we dressed in black and left at daybreak, not on our trip. At least, not any trip that required a suitcase. We drove to the Montparnasse Cemetery. Tailed by Luc, Amir, and two other bodyguards, we walked down a long road lined with gravestones, mausoleums, and lindens in full bloom.

  Muriel held Jarod’s arm, as though trying to lend him some strength. I walked alongside him, but our hands didn’t so much as graze. Even though I wanted to be there for Jarod today, I’d been worried my presence would be an intrusion. Or worse, a reminder of why we were traveling through this repository of bones. I read the etchings on tombstones, grimacing when the years separating a birth from a death were too few. Human life was fragile and fleeting and, sometimes, unfair.

  Without realizing it, my wings cascaded out of my back. It was Jarod’s hand combing through my feathers that alerted me to their presence. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

  I threaded my fingers through his and pressed our palms together. “Always, Jarod.”

  He stared around us at the sea of gravestones that recorded human lives. “I’m afraid there’s no such thing as always.”

  He was referring to Tristan, to his uncle, to his mother.

  Wait . . . Did he know that his mother’s soul hadn’t been collected? Had I told him? He raised our clasped hands and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

  When we finally arrived in front of a crypt that bore the name Adler, Jarod released my fingers to greet the undertaker. A black marble pillar bordered the crypt, inscribed with names: Isaac Adler, Jane Adler, Neil Adler, Mikaela Adler, Tristan Michel. I hadn’t even known Tristan’s last name, not that last names were important. After all, angels weren’t born with any.

  Gentle hands wrapped around my arm—Muriel’s. “Last time we were here, he was eight.” She sighed. “History’s just an eternal cycle.”

  If only she knew.

  “Was Jane Isaac’s wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Neil?”

  “Jarod’s father.” After a quiet moment, she said, “When my name goes up on the stone, can you make sure they write Adler instead of my maiden name?”

  I looked over at her, surprised by her request for so many reasons.

  “Don’t look so appalled. I’ve already told Jarod my wishes. I just wanted to share them with you in case he forgets.”

  Stunned to silence, I only managed to nod. Jarod came back toward us, eyes as black as the marble pillar mapping his family tree. He crossed his arms and kept them that way until the urn containing Tristan’s ashes had been lowered inside the crypt and the undertaker presented him with a bowl and a spoon.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, dirt to dirt.” Muriel sighed, releasing me. Once Jarod had tossed two spoonfuls into the dark pit, Muriel took the spoon and tossed in some more. “May you finally find peace, Tristan.”

  I bit my lip, my teeth digging in so hard they almost drew blood.

  Tristan’s soul wouldn’t find peace.

  He’d died a Triple, and Triples had no souls.

  Chapter 59

  The days that ensued Tristan’s burial were strange and peaceful.

  Strangely peaceful.

  I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jarod to break down, or for someone else to try and kill me, but nothing like that happened. Although there were moments when Jarod was contemplative, La Cour des Démons filled with chatter and laughter. Jarod and I spent hours meeting with people who needed help, and once we were done weighing in on the most pressing cases, we would seek out the privacy and stillness of his bedroom.

  We spent hours together, exploring each other’s bodies, watching movies, reading books, taking strolls through public gardens bursting with spring blooms before either returning to his home for Muriel’s cooking or sampling new restaurants all over the French capital.

  It was wonderful.

  Too wonderful to last, even though I dared hope it would.

  It was only when I erupted into Jarod’s office one rainy afternoon, giggling with Celeste about how sodden we both were, and saw Asher sitting across from Jarod that reality knocked into me and dried up my laughter.

  Once Jarod’s guard closed the door behind us, I said, “What are you doing here, Seraph?”

  Jarod smiled, and even though it was soft, I knew the shape of his smiles by heart, and there was something wrong about this one. “He stopped by to see how I was doing.”

  “Since when do archangels make social calls?” I asked.

  Asher’s turquoise feathers fluttered behind his back. “You’re right. This isn’t a social call. I stopped by to tell Jarod how impressed we were by his dwindling rank.”

  “Seventy-two, Feather,” Jarod said, his voice catching on my nickname. “Almost there.”

  “Seventy-two?” I yelped, flouncing onto his lap and linking my arms around his neck. In spite of our audience, I kissed him.

  And he kissed me back.

  I used to think seventy-two was a terrible score, but that was when I evaluated scores starting at zero instead of at a hundred.

  Asher cleared his throat and rose from the green velvet armchair. “I should—We should leave you two . . .”

  Celeste was frowning, gaze skipping between Asher and Jarod.

  Asher tipped his head toward the door. “Come on, Celeste. I’ll give you a lift.”

  When she didn’t move, the rainwater dripping down her body and absorbing into Jarod’s rug, Asher touched her shoulder. Ungluing her boots from the rug, she turned and followed him out.

  The second it was just Jarod and me, I clutched his face. “I’m so proud of you.”

  His smile strengthened but still didn’t reach his eyes. “How was your day, my love?”

  “Amazing. Muriel gave me a cooking lesson. Then I read some more of those old books you have upstairs—can we please buy some newer ones?—every time I flip a page, dust poofs off the paper and makes me sneeze. Plus, they’re a little boring.”

  Jarod chuckled, but the sweet sound was faint, as though Asher’s visit had caused his voice to lose power.

  “After that, Celeste called, and we went to try out that éclair bakery Muriel told us about.” I could still taste the rich coffee pastry cream on my tongue, the pliant shell, the glossy icing. “And then, as we ran home”—yes, home . . . the irony that an angel had made a home for herself inside the Court of Demons wasn’t lost on me—“I thought up some new ways to salvage your soul.”

  He smiled, but it was still too tight for my liking. “What am I going to do once you’re gone?” he murmured.

  My suspicions that something was wrong worsened. “Once I’m gone? Where am I going?”

  His Adam’s apple jostled, and he cleared his throat. “Upstairs.” He stoo
d so abruptly I would’ve toppled right off his lap if he hadn’t scooped me up. “In my bed. Our bed.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I said, linking my arms around his neck.

  “And I like the sound of you”—he trekked to the door—“when you moan my name.”

  My cheeks warmed as his elbow jammed against the handle to flick it open.

  We bypassed Luc posted outside the study. Thankfully, he kept his gaze averted. How I wished there were no guards, no need for them, but unfortunately, Jarod could never live without people protecting him, especially now that his rank was decreasing. To rectify his wrongs, he was probably crucifying some of his clients.

  “You know, I can walk,” I said as he lunged up his stairs.

  He pecked my lips. “But I can walk faster. Longer legs.”

  I laughed. “And we’re in a hurry?”

  “I might sprain a muscle.”

  I moved my mouth to his ear. “It’s not a muscle.”

  He grunted. “Then why can I flex it?”

  I rolled my eyes when he finally put me down to open his door. I shut it behind us. Before the latch even clicked, his mouth was on mine, his hands in my rain-slicked hair, then on my hips as we walk-stumbled toward the bed, bumping into one of the wooden posts.

  “Let me see that muscle you’re so proud of,” I taunted him, pushing my hair off my face as I dropped on the bed, my head leveled with the erection tenting his pants.

  When he smirked, the worry I’d felt down in his study began to fade.

  I hummed. “It is pretty impressive.”

  “Pretty impressive?” He snorted. “I’m requesting the same size or larger when I get access to my elysian form.”

  Emotion fluttered beneath my ribs. Was that what Asher and Jarod had been discussing? Elysium?

  To be together in the land of angels meant I would have to complete my wings, and he’d have to drop more points from his sinner score. Not to mention that he’d have to die.

  “Jarod?”

  “Yeah, Feather.”

  “You’re only twenty-five.”

  “Your point?”

  “You’re too young to contemplate dying.”

  He blew some air from the corner of his mouth. “Because you think I’m going to leave you up there on your own? An angel like you? So beautiful, inside and out? I’m going to be joining you as soon as my rank drops under fifty.”

  “How about the day your rank drops under fifty, we discuss my ascension?”

  He pressed his lips together, then held out his hand. “Come here.”

  I threaded my fingers through his and let him pull me up. Slowly he placed my hand over his heart, cementing it there.

  “Feather,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “thank you for choosing me. For coming back to me again and again. For your patience and your smiles. For your laughter and even for your tears. Thank you for glittering for me and for kissing me. For allowing me to desecrate your body.” His lips twitched, and I rolled my eyes. “For showing me that wings aren’t always used for flying away.”

  “Jarod, I—”

  “Wait. I’m not done.”

  I sealed my lips.

  “This last month has been . . . it’s been—” His pause was brutal, but I kept silent and waited, sensing that sharing emotion was still challenging for Jarod. “What I’m trying to say, and doing a crap job of, is that . . . it’s that I love you, Feather.”

  My eyebrows jumped.

  He pressed my palm harder against his chest, and it felt like I was touching the very organ beating there. “Can you always remember that, baby?”

  “How about you just tell me every day?”

  His dark eyes glittered even though my skin hadn’t lit up. When his thick lashes lowered and a single tear coursed down his face, catching in his dark stubble, time slowed.

  Stopped.

  “Jarod?” I murmured his name across the slender expanse dividing us. “What’s going on?”

  “It was my turn to save you.” His ragged tone made the expanse grow and grow.

  Panic shortening my heartbeats, I curled my fingers to grip something solid. Since I couldn’t reach his heart, I grabbed onto his shirt.

  “I can’t protect you down here, Leigh.”

  Beads of rainwater bled from my hair and trekked down my spine. “I can’t die.”

  “For now!” His lids flipped up, his grief smearing into anger.

  My eyes widened.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Feather.”

  His heart pounded into my clenched knuckles, the thunder in his body streaking into mine.

  “So, what?” My voice wobbled. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “No.”

  The rumbling in my chest quelled but didn’t dissipate. “Then . . . then what’s going on?”

  “I know you want to wait for me, but you’re going to ascend ahead of me.”

  “No!” I shook my head. “I’m not.”

  The anger drained out of Jarod so fast I thought it would puddle at his feet.

  “We leave together or not at all,” I said, still shaking my head like a madwoman.

  Jarod’s hands came up to my face, steadied it. “Shh.”

  “I’m not signing off from you, Jarod Adler. Ever.” At least, no one could take that decision away from me.

  His eyes gleamed again, and I scavenged their depths for the source of this pain so I could uproot it once and for all.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said, after what felt like an eternity.

  “Stop talking like I’m going somewhere, because I’m. Not. Leaving.”

  “Your wings are complete. They have been since last night.”

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

  “After Tristan’s funeral, Asher stopped by to see how I was doing. How you were doing. I’ve never been scared of anything . . . at least, not in a long time . . . but after Tristan tried to kill you, I was fucking frightened. Frightened that one day, when you had no more feathers to keep you safe, you’d succumb to my world the same way he did. The same way my mother did. And I shared my fear with Asher, asked him for his counsel. Feather, I thought up the worst scenarios”—he shuddered—“to make you hate me, but I was too much of a coward to enact any of them. When Asher handed me a solution, I took it.”

  “What . . . solution?” My voice trembled so hard the syllables knocked against each other as they tumbled out.

  “Asher signed you off from me.”

  I gaped in horror at Jarod. “All those people we’ve been helping . . .”

  The rain lashing his windows mirrored the pain lashing my chest.

  “Please don’t be mad at me, baby. It was the only way I could think of to keep you safe.”

  Tears pooled and distorted his beautiful face. “It wasn’t your decision to make. It was mine.”

  The pads of his thumbs stroked over my cheeks, trying to catch the tears that fell too fast.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” I sobbed.

  He sighed, combed my hair back, then tracked his hands down my frozen body, and gathered it against his. “I know, baby.” His chin settled on the top of my head.

  “I hate you.” I waited to feel the jab of a falling feather. Yearned for it. None came, cementing my dread to my marrow the same way Jarod and Asher had cemented my feathers to my wing bones.

  His Adam’s apple jutted against my throbbing forehead. “I hate myself more than you could ever hate me.”

  I closed my eyes and cinched my arms around him. “I won’t go.”

  His palm skated over my hair. “Asher promised to come at the very last minute.”

  The lump that swelled inside my throat turned solid as rock. “Good. He can burn my wings off.”

  “He’ll do no such thing.”

  “Jarod, I—”

  His hands curled gently around my biceps and pressed me away. “Listen to me. You’ll go up and make a home for yourself. For us. And no white
quartz everywhere, all right?” His lips flexed but slackened almost as quickly as they’d bent.

  I inhaled a long breath, trying to ease the cramping in my chest. “Is your rank really seventy-two?”

  He nodded.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you can’t take your own life. People who commit suicide, their souls . . . they’re not collected.”

  One of his hands drifted off my arm to set on my jaw. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of people who’d line up to put a bullet through my skull.”

  I shuddered.

  “Pardon, ma plume.” Forgive me, my feather.

  I swallowed, and my saliva slithered around the receding lump. He was going to make it. “Don’t expect me to forgive you when you show up at my door. I’ll let you in, but I might not talk to you for days. Months even.”

  “As long as you make love to me, I’ll accept your silence.”

  I glowered at him. “I might make you wait for that.”

  His mouth softened into a smile. “You know I hate to be kept waiting.”

  I sighed, and the air in my lungs seemed to fill up the entire room. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  His smile turned sheepish, then pained. “I can’t believe I did it either.”

  I decided to push away my annoyance and anger. Fighting wasn’t how I wanted to spend our last hours on Earth. “Kiss me, Jarod, and don’t stop until Asher pries me out of your arms.”

  His face dropped toward mine heartbeat by heartbeat, so slowly I thought he’d never reach me before I would have to leave. When his mouth touched mine, my body sparked and smoldered. And my wings . . . they spilled out of my back unbidden the same way they’d sealed to my bones unbidden.

  Chapter 60

  When Asher came to collect me, I wasn’t ready.

  Then again, who is ever ready to have their heart split in two?

  I tried to stay strong but failed miserably. When my fingers slipped out of Jarod’s for the last time in who knew how long, a cry tore from my lungs and filled his bedroom. He turned away right before Asher cloaked our bodies in angel-dust to make us invisible to the guards in the courtyard below.