“No,” Hallo bellowed. “No, no, no! You’d dare involve the Seraphs? Father would have your head, Brother. I will have it.”
My lips quirked and I stepped back. That was exactly what I intended, and it wasn’t the first time I’d called on the Archangels. How else did they think I retrieved so many lost souls?
“Fool. Dorian, I should maim you.” Hallowed’s hand shot out, and an ache grew in my head again. “Sorry, but I cannot allow it.”
And then there was darkness.
Chapter
Eight
Cain
Stay? I held myself and shivered. Wait? I didn’t want to do either, but stepped backward until the water lapped shy of my boots. Eyes on fire, I knelt to the sand.
Dorian rowed toward the lighthouse island, strong and rippling muscles worked the oars. Resting a hand over my pained heart, I sighed into the humid, briny air whipping around my face. I brushed the ocean mist, cutting through the foggy mass, obscuring the picturesque vision of solid muscles contracting beneath the surface of Dorian’s cotton shirt. Dark tresses clung to his head. His hat had disappeared, but I hadn’t missed him hiding the eerie glow of his eyes illuminating his face.
I would miss Dorian. That much I didn’t deny. Already, my heart was pinching.
Peering over the water, a blonde haired woman in billowing skirts held a hand above her eyes. The elusive and lying Hallowed—I assumed—waited for him by the red and white striped lighthouse, and by her thoughts, she knew about us already. A frown touched her pale lips; our gazes connected across the watery spans, and my former lover arrived alone.
Why had he refused my company? Maybe he hadn’t known of my previous meeting with his sister in the church. Was he ashamed of me? I blew out a harsh breath and closed my eyes.
My dream crumbled into ashes. Was this all a game he played? My knees wobbled, and the tears threatened again, but I sliced my teeth into my lip and bit down hard. No more, no tears, nothing would stand in my way, but even I understood they were only words. My eyes reopened, wider, soaking in the remnants of destruction in our broken world. Waves crashed against the rocks. Surf stirred, and the ground rumbled beneath my knees, vibrating through my body.
The end, or the beginning, rushing toward us, maybe. But I wouldn’t idle on the damp beach, waiting, while Dorian decided my fate. No. If he wanted me, I gulped and fisted the moist sand from the ground; if he loved me, he would find me.
“For nothing short of God will ever stand in true love’s way,” Mother had said.
“Then why does this feel like good-bye?” Tossing down the fisted sludge, I stood and wiped the grime on my jeans. I stomped through the frozen bank and left the bay behind with its picture perfect vision on the lighthouse. Emotions swirled inside, threatening to overflow, but I tampered and locked, swallowed and buried them where nobody would ever find them. My chance to walk away arose—Dorian’s pleading eyes and kind lies couldn’t stop me. With my hands shoved deep into my pockets, I strolled onto Main Street and never looked back.
Damned to his purgatory… I halted in the road. Everything connected. My gaze drifted over the ruined and closed down shops. Whores and vagrants littered the walkways, leeching off others to survive. No cars, busses, or trolleys. All of us trapped within Dorian’s nightmare. Like Earth had become a level of purgatory itself. Death ruled Sheol; the Horsemen ruled the broken world.
Shaking my head, I stomped my boots over the layers of ice and snow before the cold sunk into my muscles. None of that bullshit mattered, because whether on Hell, Heaven, or Earth, Dorian wasn’t mine. No one belonged to me, and I could have no sooner become someone else’s baggage.
“Why did I bother trying?” A shiver shook me. I shuffled to the sidewalk, fighting an uphill war. Urges to turn around tingled through my limbs. Bitterness filled my mouth and joined the familiarity of threatened memories. I opened the tower door and paused. “I meant nothing to him.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Westcott,” the door attendant greeted. “You’ve had visitors.”
Who would visit me? Must be Cousin Tomas. I offered him a forced smile and willed my legs forward before entering the stairwell of my apartment building.
Lungs heaved for precious, piss-perfumed breath as my heavy feet ascended the staircase, trying and failing to remove Dorian from my mind again. No matter what I thought or saw, it was him. The last time, seven months ago, he’d infiltrated and dug his claws into my soul. Even my mouth tasted of him.
Ten floors later and sweat beaded on my forehead. My front door loomed before me, but as I reached into my pocket for my keys, I found them empty. “Shit.” I had worn Dorian’s clothes and had left my belongings in his office.
Frozen fingers skimmed over the denim fabric, and the urge to shed my tears ripped at my center. Jan’s door squeaked open, and she whispered for me. Without thinking, my shoulders drooped forward, and my knees plummeted to the musty floor.
My neighbor, Jan, whispered, “Not safe, get in here.” She yanked at my shirt, tugging me toward her apartment. A simple task for some, but she neared her final years.
No will remained inside of me, and I was more than happy to let whatever danger she feared consume me. Jan—despite her elderly stature—mustered the physical strength required to drag me from the hall and into her apartment across the way.
Kneeling on her floor, my shoulders slumped forward again, and I stared at my empty hands. A shiver chased from my wrists to my spine. Jan closed the door; the evidence lay in the click and rustle of chains. Mothballs and cat box curled my nose and churned my stomach. His taste, his touch, and tenderness retreated. Without Dorian in my life what was the point in living, besides the promise to my mother?
“Men have come for you.”
I blinked and stared up at Jan. Let them come for me. Why should I fight when there was nothing to fight for anymore in this world? They’d broken me, Boric had mauled me, and no one could’ve glued the blocks together.
Her eyes bulged from behind her glasses, but my walls remained in place. Grayed hair was wound into a tight bun, reminding me of the old lady from a popular cartoon show featuring a cat and bird. Jan even managed to dress the part with her high-collared shirts and long pleated skirts.
Rising from the floor, I sniffled and wiped my eyes. “What men?”
“Not Tomas’s men,” her eyes bulged again, “strange men in Garland clothing.” She grasped my arm and guided me to her paisley-covered sofa.
We had no secrets and Jan treated me like a son. Even though I was older than she was, I hadn’t aged. No judgments ever left her mouth either, but I hesitated telling her about Dorian. Did others know him as Death? I shrugged both at my thoughts and at her revelation. “I’m surprised it took Garland this long.”
“Afraid they trashed the place.” Her thin bottom lip disappeared into her mouth.
The thoughts ransacking her mind echoed within my own. Why would Garland risk infiltrating Arcadia? I rubbed my neck and glanced away. How had he known where to find me? Words Boric had said to my sixteen-year-old self echoed in my mind. “You will always belong to me. Never forget that, luv.”
First, he’d loved me. Second, he’d crushed me, and then he’d tossed the pieces away. Hundreds of years later and I still amassed the fractured shards on my sleeves. My hand pressed against my aching heart. Dorian did the same, but this time the pieces disintegrated, leaving me emptied.
A teakettle whistled, and I raised my hand, offering to help. Mother had reared me with enough sense to respect my elders. Strolling into the kitchen was second nature. I opened the cupboards and removed her tea canister.
“Where have you been?” she asked
With the tea steeping, I filled her in about Dorian, but I left out the part of him being a Horseman.
“You love him,” she said, and smiled wide. The light in her eyes twinkled brighter. “I can see the spark in your eyes when you speak of him. And your genuine smile shines through”
I
hated being the bearer of bad news. Love simply wasn’t enough. “It’s over now.” I turned away and removed the tea balls before handing her a mug.
“Why?” She frowned.
I glanced at my feet and thought the answer. Because he ran away, like a coward, he deserved better than me.
Jan shook her head and placed her teacup on the saucer. “Lord knows, Cain, what they did to you, but you deserve love too.”
“Did you love someone?” I changed the subject and studied my waterlogged boots. My toes held no feeling. But the distraction failed. Thoughts of love resurrected Dorian’s haunting image. No, Jan had to be wrong. If I deserved love than wouldn’t I have had Dorian? We settled on the sofa as her cat twined and rubbed against my legs, purring. Animals always seemed to sense when someone required a bit of comfort.
“Long ago, I fell in love with a man who hadn’t deserved me.” Jan rolled up her sleeves and exposed scars on her brown skin. “I’m a survivor, too, but after that man...I thought I’d never trust again, let alone love.”
I stared off at the photographs littering her walls. I had seen them before, and though we had no secrets, Jan’s past wasn’t common knowledge.
She motioned to the picture of an older man. “That’s Paul. I met him after years of telling myself I hadn’t deserved real love. For ages I told him no and one day he helped me. I went on one date out of guilt, telling myself as much, but that one day changed my life forever.”
She continued with her story and spoke about the love they’d shared. He’d died before the Sundering, but had known about her secrets. Paul had accepted Jan and loved her, despite her shattered pieces. At least she’d found happiness, even if their love and union hadn’t lasted forever, but I was different.
After the tea, I washed our cups, and she retreated to her bedroom to read. I sat on the sofa, reliving the last few days in my mind, and stared onto her balcony. Outside a thunder snow rained from the sky. Lightning flashed and illuminated the darkness blanketing the world.
I closed my eyes, and Dorian’s image appeared. Each sound or movement, in the apartment and outside, raced my heart, and my hopes soared, but it wasn’t him. I shifted on the sofa and hugged myself. At least I could feel my toes again.
Still, with no Dorian swooping into rescue me from myself, more proof compounded against the facts. I deserved no love, and he couldn’t find it in himself to give his heart to me.
Maybe the fault was mine for all the lies. I snorted and rolled my sleep-heavy eyes. His secret remained one of many that I hadn’t broken from his mind. Like me, something had happened, and Dorian refused to trust or love.
Who had broken Death?
I stayed the night on Jan’s sofa. Sleep eluded me, and green eyes plagued my thoughts. My body tossed and turned on the scratchy surface. No warmth rested in the cushions and no thick arms protected me.
I awoke in a pool of sweat and shouted, “Dorian.” Blinking, I glanced around. Why had I said his name? Usually it was my brother-in-law’s name, Veric. Try as I might, though, the dream wouldn’t resurface.
The following morning Jan handed me my spare keys and insisted I lock myself inside my apartment. She was always a little over-the-top, but my southern manners reigned, and I obliged her. I opened the door, pushing papers and belongings aside. Stale and musty odors wafted into my face, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Someone had turned my furniture on its sides, and my personal belongings covered every possible surface. The scene unraveled, and clarity set in: they hadn’t wanted me at all.
Why else trash my apartment…unless Boric Garland had known I was holding the keys that Angelica had stolen.
Scoffing, I righted an end table. My hands clapped, and the overhead lights hummed on, bathing the small apartment in yellow light. “Like I’d keep the keys here.” They couldn’t have beaten, starved, or raped the location from me before, so what made them think trashing my home would work? I caught a piece a paper floated into my hand, and I crumpled the document without looking first. “Idiots…”
I uncurled the paper. “Assholes.”
Belle’s phone number stared at me. My ass plopped onto the sofa, and my hand rested over my pulsating heart. Hands shaking, I leaned forward, willing my body to steady. He was safe. Belle was safe. Garland wouldn’t have left the paper if they’d thought for a moment I had sought out the ABDA, Dorian, or Belle.
With a sigh, I unfolded myself from the sofa. Piece by piece, I corrected the pittance of my pathetic existence and tried not thinking of Dorian. Ache had pinched within my chest and tears pricked, threatening to drown me from the inside.
“For the best.” I glanced out the window. If I squinted, I could’ve made out his house. I picked up my journal and thought about chucking the worn leather into the trash.
My finger stroked over the journal’s soft leather surface Memories of our first meeting and the time I had spent scouring Arcadia for the mysterious green-eyed man, living in the equally vivid green Victorian, had lined the pages. Proof of my abuse. Each slice, scar, and bruise I had written among the pages, along with the name of each rapist. Starting at the top with Boric Garland, a chunk, a bite at a time, I wrote the resurfacing memories.
Not for revenge, but so my story might one day help another lost soul clinging to a thread in this torturous world.
My hand ran over my rough jaw, pausing for a second, but my touch wasn’t the same. My skin didn’t tingle; my stomach didn’t tighten. Safety and love didn’t live in self-caress.
The doctor had suggested I write down the past. Happy times should have lined the pages, but few of those had existed. Son of a gambling drunkard, he’d sold us. To him, we were cattle. Only sixteen when Boric stole my virtue with syrupy promises. Lily had been fourteen. Saying no hadn’t been an option. I’d quickly learned that, no, resulted in a beating and then rape, or rape while he’d beaten me. After a while, nothing else mattered, and I unwillingly lived to please him.
Part of me thought telling the inanimate object somehow changed my fate. Alone. Regardless of Jan’s insistences, being alone was better for me. An inability to change, or block, the past stood between happiness and me.
I sniffled and leaned back, sighing. My eyes closed; his glowing, green eyes smiled from behind my lids. My hand reached out, to touch his beard, but the image distorted into a menacing demon—primped blond hair and a piercing blue gaze narrowed on me. His finger crooked, beckoning me, like a common dog. My eyes flew open and I gasped.
God had punished my family, persecuting my sisters and me, even though we had done nothing wrong. I would gladly take Boric’s lashes and jabs, but all I had asked of God was to spare my sisters, and then for my death.
My shaky hand reflected my sputtering heart as I stared at the empty page. Drops splattered over the surface. Even without Dorian, somehow, some day, some way I would save them or die trying. The pen rested in the folds, and I snatched it. Furiously, I scribbled and poured my emotions, my fears, and emptied Dorian from my mind.
I rested on the empty road, hands on my hips, and stared into the rolling hills, covered in snow. Normality had returned for me, but my chest and eyes ached. Some wounds never healed: I had thought that during my one hundred and forty-block commute and meant Dorian, not Boric and his cronies. But I couldn’t answer why.
Shards of sunlight reflected from row after row of glass buildings, their frames arching in a hothouse style, spanning hundreds of acres before me. The government had built the greenhouses, which allowed us to plant year round, far outside the city limits and deeper into the countryside of Nova Scotia. I was no farmer, though. Fertilizer and chemicals burned my nose. But due to seeds and crop sizes, we were limited on plants. Beans and rapeseed gave the greatest yields, compared to other vegetables, but I would be happier never to eat another bean again.
I strolled through the warehouse door and readied for my day, hoping to clear my mind of Dorian, the ABDA, and Boric. Employees wandered past their lock
ers, both coming and going.
The shift whistle released its hissing shrill. I stopped at my locker and retrieved my safety goggles and respirator. No one spoke to me, which was odd, and their minds were closed.
“Cain,” my boss called from the doorway and gestured to me.
Odd as well that he used my first name. I closed my locker, grabbed my gear, and followed him across the hall into his office.
“Shut the door,” he said.
With a curt nod, I kicked the door and blocked the bustling clamor from the hallway before returning to the front of his desk. I lowered my gaze, sweeping the floor. This has to be about missing time. My fingers danced over my thigh. I hadn’t called out yesterday, or the previous day, and swallowed hard expecting his chew-out.
“I need you to go north and pick up seed from Plant G.” He opened a folder on his desk, and handed me the paperwork and train tickets. “You’ll be gone for a few days, so keep your receipts and be sure someone stamps your card.”
“Yes, sir.” I backed toward the door, but he stopped me.
“Call next time. Consider this your punishment. Clock out and go, now. All the arrangements are finalized, including lodging and meals. You’ll be gone at least a week.”
In the northwestern wilderness, Plant G was nestled among the deep, impenetrable forests of Nova Scotia. Unlike the farms, they didn’t grow plants. No one ever wanted to go there, though, even if it meant paid time off, and no one spoke of what happened after they’d returned.
After clocking out, I gathered my belongings and headed home to pack. Upon reaching my floor, strange voices carried into the stairwell. I halted in the corridor, listening.
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