I don’t cry pretty. I’m not one of those girls who can make their eyes glisten with moisture and only need to dab at them with the edge of a lace hanky. I’m more a roll of toilet paper type of person. When I really let go, my eyes get puffy and swollen, my mascara runs, and I need to blow my nose. Now, after what was probably no more than a few minutes of tear duct aerobics, I was positively exhausted. Crying—real gut-wrenching, shoulder-shuddering sobbing—is very tiring. With no toilet paper or tissues at hand, I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. Who cared if I gave myself raccoon eyes? My sleeved forearm took care of my nose—nasty, I know—but there wasn’t much else I could do.
Crying may be exhausting, but it’s also very therapeutic. I won’t say I was feeling better, but the wave of desperation that had been quietly haunting me ever since I’d been forced to confront Gabriel’s nature was now gone. Feeling like I was at least eighty years old, I got out of the car, wearily climbed the front porch stairs, and went straight up to bed. Too tired to get out of my clothes, I just managed to kick my shoes off, pull the quilt over me, and close my eyes. I’d never been so tired.
As I drifted off, I made a mental reminder to tell Gabriel about the leopard. He would know what its appearance meant. Only a voice in my head said it wasn’t necessary.
Who do you think sent it to you in the first place?
Oh, right, who else would it be? I burrowed deeper under the covers and sighed. Seeing the leopard had been significant, and on the cusp of falling asleep I could have sworn I heard the sound of thunder. Or maybe it was a big cat purring. I fell asleep . . . . . . and I dreamed . . .
The cold cut through me like a knife. It was the kind of chill that went beyond teeth-chattering and shivering. This cold penetrated so deep it made my muscles ache and had me seriously wondering if it was possible for the marrow in my bones to freeze while I was still alive. As in most dreams, I was dressed inappropriately.
This was my first indication that something was off. In other dreams I could be frolicking with a penguin in a bikini—me, not the penguin—and I wouldn’t even notice that it was below freezing.
Now, I realized that if I didn’t want to succumb to hyperthermia, I needed to start moving. But I had no idea where I was, and even less where I was supposed to go. Stuffing my hands in my armpits, I looked around.
Great. It was night.
Generally speaking, I’m not afraid of the dark, but there was something unnatural about the inky blackness surrounding me here. It seemed a little too black, if that was possible. I tried to get my bearings as I peered into the darkness. What little ambient light there was revealed I was in a forest of some sort. At first I thought it might be the stand of trees on the other side of my property line, but what I was seeing weren’t pines. In fact, they looked more like something that belonged in a Salvador Dali painting. But I had the sense they had been here for a very, very long time.
A sound behind me signaled something was moving through the undergrowth. I gasped and fell to my knees. Cold air hit my lungs like a razor slicing my chest. Clutching my arms, I doubled over, waiting for the pain to pass. Whatever was behind me had stopped moving, but I could feel its eyes on me as I struggled to my feet. Perhaps it was surprised by my frailty. Perhaps it was surprised by my determination to go on. In any case, it had just lost a golden opportunity to attack.
A bitter wind now added to my misery. And with it came snow. A curtain of white flurries obscured what little view I had of my surroundings, effectively blinding me. Stumbling over a tree root, I came to the conclusion that a twisted ankle would be the same as being staked out like a sacrificial offering. I hugged my upper body, rocking back and forth in order to conserve what little body heat I still had. As I was trying to decide whether I should continue on or simply lie on the ground and wait until I woke up, the wind dropped. The absence of its howl was startling.
My stalker was also surprised by the sudden quiet. No longer able to hide the sound of its movements inside the wind’s whine, it now crashed noisily behind me. I didn’t bother looking. If the creature wanted to attack me, I had given it ample opportunity. Whatever it was seemed content to follow in my wake. Getting to my feet, I pushed the hair out of my face with numb fingers and stared at a glow in the distance. A light was shining, one that promised warmth and an end to this dreadful journey. And I wasn’t the only one who saw it. A low rumbling growl told me that the light was a welcome beacon for both of us.
The predator behind me—and I knew it was a predator—moved out of the shadows and stopped a few feet behind me. I didn’t see it—I was too afraid to look—but I knew it was there, the same way I knew it had slashing razor claws and multiple rows of sharp teeth. I couldn’t outrun it, even if I wanted to. I was now so cold I couldn’t do more than shuffle along like a zombie. All my muscles were stiff, my thigh muscles especially, and my gait was now reduced to something that wouldn’t even get me a tryout at the Senior Olympics. But I needed the animal behind me to know I wasn’t a pushover.
“I promise you this,” I muttered through lips that had to be blue by now, “if you take me on, I’m not going down easy. I’ll make sure you lose at least one eye before I’m done.”
There came a whuff of air, like a deep breath on an exhale. I took it to mean that my companion not only understood what I had said, but somehow approved of my willingness to put up a fight. With this understanding between us, we headed toward the light. I stumbled two more times over roots hidden by the snowfall, and both times my fall elicited a series of growls from behind me. I found myself apologizing. If my progress was halted, then so was the animal’s, and it didn’t like being cold any more than I did.
I don’t know how long we walked because I had lost all sense of time almost the moment I entered this strange place. In my head I tried counting out a minute, but my brain couldn’t seem to make it past fifteen-Mississippi, so I gave up. We could have been walking for more than an hour or only ten minutes. I also stopped cataloging the physical toll being inflicted on my body. I’m quite sure it was still suffering, but my brain no longer bothered keeping track of the details. Or maybe my nerve endings were so cold they could no longer transmit information. However, my brain was lucid enough to let me know when my companion abandoned me. The sudden silence was deafening, and despite a voice in my head telling me maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, I turned and looked behind me.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but all I saw was more of the same unnatural blackness, broken up by huge tree limbs. The sense that I was now alone was heartbreaking. How could the creature have abandoned me without so much as a warning? I cursed myself for my timidity. If I had been brave enough to look sooner, what might I have seen? Of course, it was also probable that my lack of curiosity was precisely what had kept me alive. That, however, was scant comfort. My sense of loss was very real, as was my sudden fear at knowing I was alone.
I was surprised to find the pocket of light was now much closer, although I should have realized that time wasn’t the only thing that becomes distorted in a dream, even a dream that felt as real as this one did. No doubt my companion had far superior eyesight and had already found whatever had brought it to this place. I needed to do the same. Answers lay within the pocket of light. Even if I didn’t know the questions.
I stepped forward into a pool of warmth and screamed in agony. Going from one physical extreme to another is a shock to the system even under the best of circumstances, and this was nowhere near the best. In the space of a heartbeat I’d been kicked out of the arctic and shoved head first into a tropical heat wave, with no warm-up in between. My legs gave way, and my hands, responding instinctively, automatically braced against the fall. I felt as if I had landed on broken glass. The pain that shot up my arms to my shoulders was excruciating, flaying me open every inch of the way.
It was also the moment I knew beyond any doubt that this was no dream. I might still be lying in my bed, quilt pulled up to my chin, but whatever
was going on inside my head owed nothing to REM sleep. A door was opening, a door to long-forgotten memories.
Clutching my hands to my chest, I rolled into a ball. Squeezing my eyes shut, I choked back the screams that threatened to erupt with every pain-filled spasm ricocheting through me. It was pure torture—even my eyelashes hurt—and then, just when I was certain I couldn’t take any more, the pain ceased. A switch in my central nervous system had been mercifully flipped off.
Slowly I uncurled myself and rolled over onto my back. It took a few moments for me to catch my breath and make sure this wasn’t only a temporary respite. I stretched out my limbs, grateful to find them pliant and responsive. Inside my shoes, my toes wiggled, and I could feel dirt as I scrunched up my fingers. Good. My extremities worked. I opened my eyes slowly, not wanting to risk getting my retinas fried in the brilliant, dazzling light that now bathed me. I had the sense that everything I had ever known in my life that was pure and good had been captured inside that soft radiance.
My struggle to get to this place had taken its toll, and getting to my feet was an awkward process. As I pushed myself upright, I felt the intensity of the light surrounding me diminish. Pushing the hair out of my eyes with one hand, I looked about me. I stood on the outer edge of a clearing, a circle where nothing grew save the cruelest-looking tree I’d ever seen. I felt a ridge forming between my brows as I stared at it. Instead of leaves, its branches bore vicious-looking thorns, the smallest of which was at least as thick as my forearm and longer than the distance between my wrist and elbow. And yet this was the origin of the glorious luminosity that filled the circle. I was at a loss to explain how such warmth and life could be emitted by something so awful. And then I saw. The light wasn’t coming from the tree . . . it came from what was hanging in the tree.
My hand to flew to my mouth, and I gasped. Impaled on the thorny branches in an obscene crucifixion was Gabriel. His body was leaner, less muscular, but the white hair that I so loved was the same, although it now fell well past his hips. And he was younger somehow. The Gabriel I knew carried with him the experience of the life he had lived. It showed in his manner, his speech, his bearing. Some of it good . . . some of it bad, but it all made the man I knew. This Gabriel was different. It was as if he had yet to live those experiences. And I couldn’t explain why I knew that any more than I could explain the light that came from him. The light that had brought me here.
“Gabriel!” I called his name, but he gave no sign he had heard me or even knew I was there. I hoped he was unconscious because it would be a respite from the pain he had to be feeling. I moved forward, stumbling as I made my way to the base of the tree. Any hope I had of rescuing him was immediately dashed. He was positioned too high up for me to reach, but I could see the strain the unnatural position of his body was placing on his arms and shoulders. How long had he been here? How much longer was he going to be able to suffer this torture? Tears flowed from my eyes as a sense of helplessness washed over me.
“Gabriel . . . ?” I spoke his name more softly this time, praying that he would not open his eyes, but wanting him to know he was not alone.
Blood washed over my shoes, blood . . . and something else. I bent down and plucked a feather out of the rust-colored liquid. It was longer than my arm, and the edges, where it was not stained with blood, were a shade of blue I had never seen before. A chill went through me as I slowly turned the feather over in my hand. The Gabriel I knew might be a vampire, but once he had been something else. Something very different.
CHAPTER 13
“It appears your angel has had his wings clipped,” a harsh, raspy voice said from behind me.
I spun around and saw a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. Dressed in a hooded robe similar to those worn by medieval monks, the figure had pulled the hood forward in order to obscure his face. All that was revealed was a shock of coal-black hair against an unnaturally pale forehead. I stared and said nothing.
“Your angel has had his wings clipped,” the robed figure repeated. The voice was male, but the rough tone made me think the owner had suffered a recent trauma to his vocal cords.
“Who are you?” I asked, making no response to his comment.
“I am the Wraith, and you are in my domain.”
“Bullshit!” I snapped out. “This domain is inside my head.”
The hood nodded in agreement. “True, but that does not change the fact that this is still my domain.”
I felt a cold shiver as he came toward me. There was a sense of wrongness to him that I couldn’t explain. He was everything Gabriel was not, and being in his presence made me uneasy. I watched as he moved closer, the hem of his robe gliding unnaturally over the ground.
“Did you do that to him?” I demanded, pointing to the feathers scattered over the ground.
The hood shook from side to side. “It is not within my power to punish one such as him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tilting his head, he appeared to be staring at me, a move made all the more unnerving as I couldn’t see his face. “Do you really not know who I am?”
“Let’s assume I don’t.” Ordinarily I wouldn’t have been so flippant, but whatever was happening here had gone beyond ordinary.
A long sleeve moved in Gabriel’s direction. “If he is of the Light . . . then I am of the Dark.”
“Meaning what? You’re not capable of such torture?”
“Even one such as I must respect the balance that exists between all living things. An act such as this has . . . consequences.”
Whatever was inside that robe, and I really didn’t want to know, I felt it was speaking the truth. “Why are you here?” I asked.
“For the same reason as you.” The huskiness got a little deeper.
“Gabriel has summoned me also. It would seem he has need of us both.”
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but before I could start figuring it out, the Wraith moved past me to stand closer to the tree. “Look, Gabriel,” he rasped, “Here is the one who has answered your call. Let us see if she has the courage to be your Promise.”
For the first time, Gabriel looked at me. He raised his head, and his eyes roamed hungrily over me. As I stared into those blue-gold depths with the thick lashes framing them, I knew with every fiber of my being that this was the only male who would ever claim my heart. That it had always been his. From the beginning of time.
“Tell me . . . do you know what he is?”
I wasn’t sure what answer the Wraith was looking for, but I was in no mood to play riddles. I wanted to get Gabriel down from that damn tree. And while the Wraith, or whatever it wanted to call itself, might tell me it wasn’t responsible for putting Gabriel up there, I was damn sure it could get him down.
“What do you want from me?” I asked in a voice that could match the coldness of the dark forest beyond the circle.
“I want to know what you are willing to do to save him.”
“Anything.”
“Why?”
“He is everything to me.” I spoke without hesitation.
A laugh came from deep inside the hood, a sound that filled me with terrors I couldn’t begin to name. “We shall see . . . we shall see.”
At the edge of the circle, between the stand of misshapen, gnarled trees that stood as silent guardians, pockets of air began to shimmer. At first, I thought it was a hallucination, but as I watched, I saw the air take form, become corporeal until each pocket birthed an animal. They were all predators, natural hunters armed with razor-sharp claws and slashing teeth. But they were bigger and more savage-looking than any animal I had ever seen. It was as if I were seeing the living blueprint of every predatory hunter graced with four legs. I remained as still as I possibly could, even though I was sure every one of them already knew how many strides were needed to reach me. Had one of them been my companion in the forest? I couldn’t be sure, and then I knew.
A much larger versio
n of the same black leopard I’d last seen gracing the hood of my car stepped forward into the circle of light. It stared at me with orange eyes, and a savage chorus broke out. The uproar of snarls and growls made me want to cover my ears with my hands. But as I listened, I was able to discern a sense of order amid the chaos of snarls. The great beasts were talking to each other, communicating in a way that was beyond my understanding, but true nevertheless. I watched in fascination as growls were punctuated with flashing teeth and claws. Remaining in constant motion, they continued to circle each other as well as the outer edge of the clearing. And I noticed they kept me in sight. Always.
I had almost forgotten the other figure standing with me until a grating rasp close to my ear reminded me. “Do you know what he is?” the Wraith repeated.
“He is Gabriel,” I said, unsure what answer was required of me.
“Do not try my patience!” The voice was so close, all I would need to do was turn my head slightly and I would be able to see what else went with the pale skin and dark hair. But a voice in my head warned me that some beings were not meant to be seen. “I will not ask again, Rowan—do you know what he is?”
Why was I not surprised it knew my name? I turned away from the figure and looked at the crucified angel I was in love with. Did I know what he was? No, not truly. I could guess, make wild speculations, but truthfully, I had no name for what I thought he might be.
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to play games. Not when Gabriel’s life might be in the balance. “No, in truth, I don’t know what he is.”
“Then behold one whose fall from grace no longer permits him to walk in its radiance.”
“So . . . he is Fallen?”
I could feel Gabriel looking at me, wanting to apologize for whatever he had done to bring me here. My eyes met his, and I gave him my reassurance that he had nothing to apologize for. Most certainly not for what he was. Not ever. He was the reason I was here. He had always been the reason. If an apology was needed, it would be mine for taking so long to come to him.
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