Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3)

by Rene Lanausse

  I think I’ve seen all I need to see. Rather than wait for Michael to launch me into the air again, I teleport myself to a point high above the property, and immediately dive towards the ground. I wait until I’m a mere fifty feet off the ground, then pull up as I spread my wings. I allow myself as a triumphant smile as I soar over the tree tops, steadily climbing from the momentum of my dive. I even gain some altitude by mirroring Michael’s wing movements. Maybe I’m not quite as bad at this as I thought.

  Now, for the hard part. I bank left, and turn back the way I came as quickly as I can. Within a minute, I spot Michael standing where I left him, searching for me, and I dive towards him. As I approach, I pull my body upright, and flap forward furiously, much like he did. I don’t look very graceful doing it, but I successfully land on my feet, swaying a little as I adjust to being on solid ground.

  Michael claps a hand on my shoulder, his emerald green eyes shining with pride. “Well done,” he remarks. “You learn quickly.”

  “Only when I have a half decent teacher,” I reply. My heart sinks as soon as the words leave my lips; the memory of a similar conversation with Krystal plays in my head, and the guilt of her death washes over me yet again. I wonder if I’ll ever stop thinking about her. It’s sickening, but on some level, I hope I do. And at the same time, I hope I don’t.

  “Are you ready to try again?,” Michael asks. “I’d like to see how long you can stay above the ground.”

  I nod. I’ve only been on my feet for half a minute, but I’m already itching to be airborne again. This time, Michael teleports me skyward, and as I hurtle towards the ground, I feel my earthly troubles melt away. I close my eyes, and embrace the freeing feeling of gravity pulling me downward, knowing that at the very least, I have a new escape from the harshness of the world below.

  6

  For the first couple weeks, I spend the majority of my time flying under Michael’s supervision, practicing the essential skills I’ll need later on. I’m still nowhere near as agile as he is, but I’ve made leaps and bounds in the short span of time. My wings no longer feel alien, but like they’ve been a part of me all along. I put as little thought into using them as I do my arms, freeing me to ponder more important things as I soar over the sea of green surrounding Michael’s property.

  At the same time, Michael and I have become far closer than I ever would have expected. He understands me in a way the others can’t seem to grasp. And while he’s been teaching me how to fly, I’ve been teaching him basic social skills; he’s learned to say thank you whenever it’s appropriate, but he’s still working on when not to speak his mind. He’s becoming less and less annoying, which is a relief. With the constant lessons, he’s the only person I can really make time for. Not that I really have any great need to speak to the others lately.

  Apparently, when I told Alyssa she was in charge of Nick’s training, she took it to heart. I’ve felt his power growing steadily day by day, and it’s a little startling. It’s not that he’s a threat to me; even at this rate, I don’t think he would be able to seriously challenge me for a couple of years. But there’s a dark edge to the power bubbling within him, something so subtle that I wonder if I’m imagining it. For the most part, I chalk it up to my paranoia. But sometimes, I still worry that the Nick who came back from the dead isn’t really my Nick at all.

  I make him sleep in his own bed for exactly that reason. I love him, but I can’t afford to take any chances.

  Unlike the rest of us, my mom has been having a fairly relaxing vacation. Michael provides all of us with food and shelter, so there’s no need to go out and make money. She spends most of her time working on a book that she’s never had the time for until now. I suppose the writing gene must run in the family. The difference between us is that she’s determined to write a whole novel, as opposed to just a snippet of a story.

  I haven’t seen much of Michael’s guards since the first encounter. They seem to mostly operate from the shadows, lying in wait for intruders to arrive. So it’s something of a surprise when I notice one of them standing on the dock with Michael at our appointed meeting time. Neither of them explains what’s happening. Michael just orders me to follow them, and they take off, flying in the direction of the forest.

  I shrug, and run after them, sprinting as fast as I can. Then I take a huge leap, allow my wings to spring free from between my shoulder blades, and give myself a boost with a spell to make sure I’m well above the trees. Flying may not come as naturally to me as walking, but I already prefer it. The only time I’m ever completely at ease is when I take to the skies.

  Michael and his guard touch down in a clearing a couple of miles from the house, and I land nearby a few seconds later. As soon as my feet are on the ground, I ask, “What’s going on?”

  Michael pulls his wings back into his body, and says, “I’ve taught you everything I can about flight; the rest will come with experience. It’s time to move on to something new.”

  “Like what?”

  “Physical combat.”

  “Well, this will be fun. Why’s your guard here?”

  “Tyrael will be your sparring partner. Before I can teach you, I need to see what you already know.”

  I glance at the angel, Tyrael, and the two of us lock eyes. He looks familiar, but I can’t figure out why until I remember that he was the one holding my mother hostage the first day we came here. I don’t have a problem sparring with him, not one bit.

  Michael leans against a tree bordering the clearing, and orders, “Begin.”

  I’m the first of us to move. I sprint across the clearing, leaping over a fallen log as Tyrael removes his suit jacket. He wraps it around my fist as I strike at his face, then twists my arm to the side and tosses me backward with a powerful shove. This won’t be quite as easy as some of the fights in my past; this guy seems to know what he’s doing. I take a few steps away, and we circle each other as I try to assess the best way to come out of this on top.

  As we circle, I realize that my blood is boiling, the anger that I’ve been pushing aside for weeks bubbling to the surface. I lunge at Tyrael, who sidesteps the attack. It’s exactly what I hoped he would do. The second my body hits the ground, I scrape up a handful of grass and dirt, and fling it into his face. Tyrael curses, and reaches to rub the debris from his eyes, and that’s all the time I need to get back on my feet. Before he can clear his vision, I punch him a couple of times in the stomach, and am rewarded by the pained gurgle that flies from his lips.

  I’d like to finish this quickly, so I take Tyrael’s head in my hands, and go to pull it down into my rising knee. But he takes the opportunity to jab me in the jugular, and push me aside as he steadies himself. I clutch at my throat, gasping for air, hardly even registering when he asks if I’m alright. I decide to ignore the pain, and take a swing at Tyrael when he least expects it. He stumbles backward, and I kick him in the chest so hard that he lands flat on his back.

  Before he can stand or roll away, I straddle him, pinning one arm over his head. With my free hand, I grab a nearby rock, and smash it into his cheek. Tyrael spits out a fine red mist, but I’m unfazed by his pain. I raise the rock to strike again, but find that I can’t bring it down. I glare over at Michael, who’s watching me with rapt attention. His hand is basked in a soft white glow, the very same cloaking the hand holding the rock I’ve been using as a weapon.

  “Let me go,” I demand through gritted teeth.

  Michael just shakes his head. “I’ve seen enough,” he says. “Unhand Tyrael, and step away.”

  I growl in response, but refuse to move. I don’t want this to be over. I want to clobber Tyrael, make him bleed, show him what it means to fuck with someone I love. I strain against Michael’s spell, but to no avail. I’m thoroughly stuck. Michael expands his spell to encompass my whole body, and lifts me away from Tyrael, placing me down gently on the other side of the clearing while he tends to Tyrael’s wounds.

  “I’m not done with him!,” I y
ell as Michael kneels over Tyrael.

  “Yes, you are,” Michael says calmly. “You’re done for the day. Go home, Heather.”

  Michael releases me from his spell, and I turn and stomp into the woods, forgetting for a moment that I know how to fly. Not that it matters. I don’t want to run from this feeling. In an odd way, I want to embrace it. Let the fury take hold. But the blinding, pulse-pounding anger fades within a few minutes of stumbling though the underbrush until I find a path that leads back to the house.

  I’m practically dripping with sweat by the time I make it back, and I’m sure I smell rancid. So I grab a fresh set of clothes, dash into the bathroom, and step into a cool shower while I think. I keep replaying the fight with Tyrael in my mind, wondering at what point Michael began suspecting he would have to step in. All I did was exactly what he asked; show him my skills. Maybe he didn’t expect me to fight dirty. I can’t help it; Krystal always taught me to use my environment to my advantage, so I did. If he’s disappointed in me, it never showed. Michael’s face was completely blank as he told me to leave.

  I step out of the shower, feeling refreshed, and am in the process of drying myself off when I become aware of someone speaking softly in the hallway. I switch off the bathroom’s fan, and resume drying myself in time to hear Michael say, “The girl carries much more anger than I imagined. I’m worried she may be too unstable to teach properly.”

  Unstable? Is that how people see me these days? My eyes narrow, and I dry myself more furiously before stepping into my clean clothes. Yeah, I may have gone overboard earlier, but I don’t think that’s any reason to jump to conclusions. People get hurt in fights. That’s just how the world works.

  “I think she’s fine,” a second voice in the hallway replies. I clap a hand over my mouth as I realize that it’s my mom speaking. She continues, “She’s just going through a lot. She still blames herself for what happened in New York.”

  “Well, she needs to control her emotions,” Michael says. “Tyrael could have been seriously injured.”

  “But he wasn’t. So what’s the problem?”

  “Her ferocity-“

  “Is something that’s always been a part of her. But her moral compass is stronger. I didn’t teach her any of that, so where do you think she got it from?”

  There’s a brief silence before Michael answers. “It’ true. We are a warlike people. But she’s so… human. And when you barred me from seeing her, I’d hoped she might have at least learned a thing or two about serenity from you.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, humanity enjoys war just as much as you do.”

  “Not you, Regina. You’ve always been different.”

  That’s it. I’ve heard enough. I’m 97% sure that Michael is about to start flirting with my mom, and that is absolutely unacceptable. I burst out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and push past the two of them on the way up to my room.

  ***

  I’m so used to spending all day practicing, that I have no idea what else to do here. Nick and Alyssa are off training somewhere. My mom is in the living room, brushing up on her soap operas while she writes. Michael is nowhere to be found, nor are any of his guards. And I don’t want to be around anyone, so I’m not sure where I even can go, besides my room. The only problem is, I’m already tired of being cooped up in such a tiny space. I’ve been spoiled on the open skies.

  When I can’t take it anymore, I grab the blanket off of my bed, and a book that I’d taken off of Michael’s shelf, and head outside. The late summer heat scalds me at first, but I find a shady tree for protection, enjoying the relative cool as I spread out the blanket and rest against the grayish bark. I’m more accustomed to reading in my room at home, with nothing to distract me but the hum of the air conditioner or the sounds of the city below. But as I nestle against the tree, and pick up where I left off with Wuthering Heights, I feel as if I could get used to this. I’ve been a city girl all my life, but for the moment, the country will do.

  The shadows lengthen around me gradually, but I hardly notice, engrossed as I am in my book. One shadow in particular does catch my notice, however, when I notice it moving swiftly towards me. Of course; I can only lose myself in literature for so long before reality rears its ugly head. I place a bookmark on the page where I left off, and look up to greet whoever’s coming. “Hey there.”

  “Hey, stranger.” Nick lands heavily on the ground by my side, shining with sweat. I’m guessing he just came back from a lesson with Alyssa. He smells, but not in an offensive way. The natural scent I’ve always associated with him is merely intensified, and mingling with sweat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. At least, not relaxing.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, remember?”

  Nick groans, and sits upright so that we can see each other eye to eye. I notice that the top few buttons on his shirt have been left open, leaving much of his chest revealed. And that’s when I notice the black, spidery veins stretching across the skin over his heart. “What are you reading?,” he asks innocently before I get the chance to ask.

  “Trying to change the subject? Classy.” I toss the book onto the blanket in front of me, and watch Nick’s face as he struggles to figure out what to say.

  “Forgive me for trying to engage in pleasant conversation with my girlfriend,” he says. “I keep forgetting that’s a foreign concept to you.”

  I look down at my hands, a fresh form of guilt taking root in my mind. Why do I always react so vehemently to his presence? It can’t just be that I worry about what Lucifer has done to him. I really wish I knew, so I could explain whatever is happening in my head. Maybe I really am just too angry, and I’m taking it out on the world. The least I can offer him is an apology, since an explanation is out my grasp. “Sorry,” I mutter while staring at my hands. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

  “Nevermind,” Nick grumbles.

  “No, what is it? I’m all ears.”

  “I really want you to reconsider killing Lily…”

  My mood sours immediately, and the walls that I’ve been putting up for weeks are reinforced just as quickly as I consider tearing them down. “Why does it matter to you?,” I ask frostily.

  “Because the Heather that I fell for would never kill anyone on purpose. You’re better than that.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes! You don’t have to stoop to her level.”

  “Thanks for the input. Satisfied with your pleasant conversation?”

  “No. But I’m even less satisfied with my girlfriend.”

  My eyes widen in shock, and I finally look up at Nick again. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. For weeks, you’ve been treating me like I’m contaminated, and obsessing over your revenge, and pushing everyone away. I’ve literally been to Hell and back for you, and now you normally won’t even give me the time of day. Do you really expect me to put up with that indefinitely? Are you ever going to at least pretend to love me again?”

  I take a deep breath before answering Nick’s complaints. “First of all, it’s not that I don’t love you. I definitely don’t not love you. I just have a lot going on, and you keep trying to get in the way of the one goal that’s keeping me sane.”

  “That goal is going to lead you down a path that I can’t follow...“

  “Second, it shouldn’t be any business of yours, or anyone else’s, what I decide to do with my life. I didn’t stand in your way when you were contemplating revenge. So either stand with me, or stand aside.”

  “I can’t support you in this… If you succeed, you’re only going to get bitter because you’ll have nowhere else to place all that anger, and you’ll just slowly destroy yourself. You won’t get any closure out of killing Lily. You’ll just become a monstrous version of yourself.”

  I glare at Nick for a moment, before asking, “Do you agree with Michael, then? Do you think I’ve become unhinged? Too angry and distressed to function?”

  “No… I
just know that you’re not the best version of yourself that you can be right now. And I’m willing to fight to get her back, but only if you’re willing to let me.”

  That pulls me up short. I tear my gaze away from him, and massage my temples for a moment. I can’t look at him anymore. I stare out onto the lake as I respond, “You can’t always fix what’s fucked up, Nicholas. I don’t need a hero.”

  “You do. And you’re not fucked up.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because I’m tired of the way you treat me, when all I want to do is help-“

  “If you’re tired of me, then go.”

  Nick is silent for so long, that I’m afraid I broke him somehow. Hell, I probably did. I should have thought before I spoke, but I meant what I said. If he can’t be here for me, then I won’t let him hold me back. After an eternity of tense silence, he whispers, “Fine. I’ll see you around, Heather.” Nick stands upright, and I’m certain he’s watching me, hoping I’ll say something to call him back. But I can’t. I won’t. He strides toward the house, and as he leaves, I can almost feel one of the last remaining links to the life I knew and loved snap, and fall to the wayside.

  7

  Somehow, it never occurred to me how much breaking up with Nick would hurt. I expected to feel relieved, or at least numb to the loss. But it’s like a hole has been carved out of my chest, as if he’d claimed a piece of me and took it with him when he went. And that hole pains me more and more every time we cross each other’s paths in the house. He looks at me through harrowed eyes. I always turn away before he can read any sign of weakness in my expression. We made our choices. He chose wrong.

  Losing Nick only drives me to dive into training headlong. Every morning, Michael sits with me on the banks of the lake and talks me through a series of complicated stretches. When he’s satisfied that we’re both limber, he shows me fighting techniques that he’s picked up over the years. A large portion of them are nothing new; I learned a lot about the art of combat under Krystal’s tutelage. But I humor him, and perform exactly as he instructs until he’s satisfied that I’ve grasped the concept. We break for lunch, and then he has me practice what I’ve learned on Tyrael.