Chapter 14
“Why did you leave?”
They stood in a clearing outside the building where Wilhelm was observing the possessed. They were back in their human forms and staring at each other like two lost and angry teenagers.
“I hurt you.”
“It wasn’t you. It was those things.”
Stiles shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was still my hands that were around your throat.”
Dylan approached him, but seemed to think better of touching him; her hand was raised, but then fell with a slap against her upper thigh.
“You can’t abandon me now, Stiles. These things…I don’t know how to stop them. I need your help figuring this out.”
“I don’t know any more than you do.”
“But you have a connection to heaven. Maybe somebody up there could tell you?”
Stiles leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “My connection to heaven has been restricted since I returned.”
“Restricted?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed in that way they do when she’s angry. “What do you mean, restricted?”
“I mean, God was not pleased with some of the things I did while I was down here during the war. I made mistakes, I hurt people. And my punishment was that I was cut off from heaven, restricted to only the occasional communication via the garden.”
“The garden?”
“You know the garden. You’ve been there a few times.”
She cocked her head slightly as a memory danced across her mind’s eye. “So you can’t ask for help?”
“I’ve been hearing their voices again, but they’re faint.”
“And that means?” she asked, clearly growing impatient.
“It means that the connection is rebuilding itself, but it’s a slow process. I don’t know how long it’ll be before it’s fully functional.”
“Great.”
Dylan turned away, her arms wrapped so tightly around herself that he could see her knuckles turning white where she pressed them into the soft flesh of her upper arms. There was a darkness in her aura, a tension that was deeper than even the darkness and fear he saw in her during the war. He wanted to go to her, but he was afraid that if he touched her, if he felt that connection they’d shared just moments ago, that he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
“You should be inside with Wilhelm, figuring these things out. And I should be with Demetria, watching over the people.”
“No.” She turned to him again, anger flashing brightly in her aura. “You won’t leave me again. I need you here.”
“Why?”
“I need you to help me figure out what to do, what I can do to fix this.”
“It’s not just on your shoulders, Dylan.”
“But I’m the one with these powers, the one who can do things that other angels can’t. I’m the one that has to find a way to fix this. I have to send those souls to heaven; I have to make them see that holding on to all this anger isn’t what God intended.”
“Why is it all up to you?”
“Because no one else can do it.”
He did go to her then. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly. “You are special,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean that you are the only one fighting this particular war. You are not alone.”
“Then why do I feel like it’s all on my shoulders?”
Tears started to spill from the corners of her eyes. He brushed at them with his thumb as one hand sank itself in her hair and the other drew her closer with a soft touch on the back of her shoulder.
“God never intended for you to fight alone, Dylan. Why do you think he sent you to me? Why do you think he gave you Jimmy and Wyatt and Josephine? Those things were not accidents. He gave you what you needed right when you needed it. And now…things are changing. But that doesn’t mean you’re alone.”
He pressed his forehead to hers as he brushed away yet more tears. She leaned toward him; she probably only wanted to move into his embrace. But their lips touched and that magic he’d felt when their aura’s melded washed over him and he couldn’t pull away. He couldn’t be the gentleman she needed him to be. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel this growing connection between them. Whether she liked it or not, their souls were destined to be tethered. And the closer they got to that moment, the more intense the need grew in him.
He pulled her closer to him and tasted her, and was pleased when she opened to him. He’d never felt this with Joanna—never came close. When she kissed him, it conjured a physical reaction, not an emotional one. The closest he’d ever come to this kind of pleasure was when he touched Rebecca. But even that, as wonderful as it always was, was nothing compared to this.
He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her for the rest of eternity. But, of course, that couldn’t be.
“They’re attacking in Dytonia,” Wilhelm said, suddenly arriving beside them.
Stiles had the same thought as Dylan as she jerked away from him, her fingers pressed against her lips.
Rachel.
Chapter 15
Dylan could feel them the moment her feet hit the ground outside the building where Rachel kept her library. There were four men, less than half a mile away. She wanted to run inside and send Rachel as far from here as she could. Jimmy’s sister, Rachel, had nearly died of the modified angel disease six years ago. It was on her that they tested the cure first, and she was the first to survive. Her purpose had been revealed in that moment. And now…she didn’t need to be drawn into this mess.
Dylan wouldn’t allow it.
“This way,” Stiles said, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the west side of town.
Dytonia was one of the first communities to grow up after the war, shortly after the city where Dylan and Wyatt made their home, built up using material from a nearby ruin. It was uniform and practical, just like Dylan’s city. They ran toward the city park where children were playing in the grass, laughing as they chased each other and spherical objects that Wyatt always insisted were once called balls.
Just as they turned the corner at the edge of the park, four men came charging toward them. Stiles let go of Dylan and his sword appeared in his hand, the silver lines of it glowing in the sunlight. Dylan grabbed her own sword, also a beautiful silver with writing on the blade that she’d never stopped to figure out. Two gargoyles rushed up behind them, in their full gargoyle persona, axes in hand. They looked like they were trying to start a street fight, or some other ancient ritual.
One of the four possessed began to run as he spotted them. Dylan stepped forward, but Stiles, in his Stiles way, stepped in front of her and took the brunt of the man’s momentum. The man had no weapon; he just seemed determined to tear Stiles’ throat out with his bare hands. Stiles grabbed one wrist and twisted it, forcing it behind the man’s back while he slammed the hilt of his sword into the man’s skull. Dylan moved around him and held her hand against the man’s breast and sent the demon from his body.
As they did that, the three other possessed came around them and attacked the gargoyles. It was a difficult thing for the gargoyles not to damage the human while fighting the demon. They beat the men around their shoulders with the handles of their axes, but it didn’t do much to slow them down. Dylan knocked the soul out of one man, but then another turned his attention on her, his face twisted into a grimace as he rushed at her. She ducked, ready to bury her sword in his side if it became necessary. But then Stiles was there again, moving between her and the possessed, smashing his sword into the man’s neck, knocking him to the ground long enough for Dylan to again remove the demon.
She was growing tired and there was another demon to be dealt with. One of the gargoyles was injured. The last possessed had a long, thin knife that he’d managed to hide until the gargoyle’s throat was in range. Gray blood poured from the creature onto the ground, the gurgles of his attempts to breathe a grotesque sound on the otherwise silent afternoon air. Dylan dropped to her knee
s beside the gargoyle, pressing her hand to the wound in an attempt to heal it before the creature bled out while Stiles turned to help the remaining gargoyle with the last possessed.
The sound of metal striking metal kept Dylan updated on the fight as she concentrated on the gargoyle. She’d never tried to heal a gargoyle before. It took more than the simple touch of her hand to mend the hard granite-like flesh. She was afraid she wasn’t going to finish quickly enough. And then Stiles cried out, a sound she’d heard rarely and never wanted to hear.
She turned just in time to see the possessed bury its knife in Stiles’ chest. The other gargoyle was down, bleeding gray ooze onto the ground from a deep wound in his side. She jumped to her feet just as Stiles raised his sword, hilt first, and attempted to knock the possessed unconscious as he had the others. But this one saw it coming and ducked, taking another jab at Stiles, catching him just above the waist of his pants.
Dylan charged with sword in hand. Before she could reach the man, another sword slammed down on his shoulder, shattering bone, and driving him to the ground. She pressed her hand to the possessed man’s chest as she fell over his body, sending the demon off like a puff of wind.
She didn’t stop to wonder where the third sword had come from. She turned to Stiles, who had fallen to his knees, and pressed her hand against one wound and then the other. He groaned as his body knitted itself back together under her touch much faster than it would have done on its own.
“You okay?”
He nodded, some color slowly coming back into his pale features. “You?”
“Much better than you.”
Stiles looked over her head and his eyes widened. Dylan thought the possessed had come back. She felt wings beating behind her and assumed it was the gargoyles. She began to turn, but Stiles grabbed her arm as he climbed to his feet. He helped her up and she glanced at the gargoyles, pleased to see that the one she’d helped was healed enough to help his partner. Then she turned and saw what had caused the surprise she’d seen in Stiles’ eyes.
An angel, more beautiful than any she’d ever seen, stood with his wings outstretched behind him. He was tall, strong, and had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. His hair was dark, too, a black that was almost blue. His skin was so deeply tan that it was a shocking contrast to his white wings and the white clothing he’d chosen to wear. There was some resemblance to Luc, but it was mostly in his coloring and his build. The affection that shone from his eyes was the difference, a love that glowed so brightly that she could never confuse him with her former enemy.
“Who are you?” she stammered, so shocked to see another angel after all this time that she didn’t know what else to say.
“Dylan,” Stiles said, holding her upper arm so tightly that she could almost feel the bruises forming, “this is Raphael.”
“Raphael?” She glanced at him. “The archangel?”
“Yes.” Stiles stared wearily at Raphael. “And your ancestor.”
Dylan pulled away from Stiles and stepped closer to this new angel, her eyes taking in everything about him. It seemed a little surreal, seeing an angel like this. The angels she had known during the war rarely displayed their wings in this way; they rarely moved into their ethereal form. Some, because they no longer could thanks to Lily’s elixir, but others, because they had simply gotten used to living in their human forms. So this…it was an impressive display.
“Why are you here?”
Raphael studied her for a minute in deep silence, his expressive eyes filled with confusion. “I am here to serve you.”
“Me?” Dylan pressed a hand to the center of her chest. “Are you sure you mean me?”
“You are Dylan?”
She nodded. “I am.”
He smiled, a bright smile that seemed as bright as a million suns. “Then I am here to serve you.”
“But there haven’t been new angels on Earth in a generation.”
“Stiles prayed,” he said, gesturing toward Stiles with a movement of one wing. “My legion and I are an answer to that prayer.”
“Your legion?”
Raphael retracted his wings and suddenly Dylan could see rows and rows of angels standing behind him, men and women of all ages standing like an army prepared to march into battle. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. And they all fell into a low bow as their leader, Raphael, dropped to one knee in front of Dylan.
“We are at your service.”
Chapter 16
“You prayed?”
Stiles leaned against Rachel’s desk and watched Dylan pacing between piles of books and papers.
“I was a little frustrated. Weren’t you?”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“Because I didn’t think my prayer had been heard. I told you, I’ve been cut off.”
“Not completely, obviously.”
“It’s been more than forty years. Maybe God decided that was long enough.”
Dylan paused, her gaze falling over him. “Did you know they were coming?”
“Of course not.”
She dragged her fingers through her short, blond hair before crossing her arms over her chest again. “What are we going to do with all these angels? Josephine and her council are going to have a field day with this. They’re going to think we did this on purpose to mess with their debate.”
“Who cares?”
She pointed a finger at him. “You might not care that they’re debating our future among the human race right now, but it bothers me. I don’t really relish the idea of being kicked out of my home and forced to hide my nature.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“How do you know?”
Stiles started to argue, but he knew she had a point. There was no way to know which way the council would decide. And the fact that Wyatt was working a deal to keep Dylan safe until Josephine’s death didn’t bode well. But it didn’t matter to him whether he had to hide his nature. He’d lived both ways. He could handle whichever the council chose. But Dylan had never had to hide her nature.
“You don’t have to tell anyone right now. And, maybe, we’ll resolve this thing and they’ll go back to heaven before anyone’s the wiser.”
She turned and began pacing again. “You want me to lie to my husband and my child.”
“I didn’t say lie. I said omit a little information.”
She glanced at him. “It’s the same thing, Stiles.”
“Look at it this way, at least now we have more eyes on the problem. Maybe we’ll be able to figure it out that much quicker.”
She nodded, but she didn’t slow down in her pacing. “You should go talk to him. Make sure he understands that we can’t have him flaunting his wings everywhere he goes. And ask him what they know about these Nephilim souls up in heaven. Maybe he can be helpful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Stiles pushed himself to his feet and approached her. “Earlier, in the clearing…”
She didn’t even look at him. “We don’t have time to talk about that.”
“Dylan—”
She waved a hand at him. “Not now.”
Stiles backed away. He wanted to talk about it, wanted to know what she was going to do about the undeniable connection between them, but he knew what happened when Dylan was pushed. She’d shut off, turn away from him and ignore everything that was so painfully obvious right in front of her. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.
But, again, this wasn’t getting him anywhere, either.
He found Raphael downstairs, still dressed in white, but his wings were gone. He was sitting on a low couch with Rachel, laughing at something she had apparently just said. She looked up when Stiles came into the room, the laughter dying in her eyes.
“How’s Dylan?”
Stiles didn’t know how to answer that question. He made a little gesture with his shoulders. Rachel seemed to understand exactly what he intended. She climbed to her feet, pausing to address Raphael.
“It was a plea
sure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.
“And you.” Raphael stood, towering over Rachel, and lifted her hand gently to his lips. “I hope to meet you again.”
Rachel blushed, a soft smile lighting her eyes. When he let her hand go, she gestured toward the stairs. “I should go check on Dylan.”
Stiles watched her go, and then moved deeper into the room, taking a seat in a club chair across from the couch where Raphael had resumed his seat.
“She is an innocent soul.”
Stiles inclined his head slightly. “She’s a long story.”
“The one brought out of the past, correct?”
Stiles nodded. “You’ve been brought up to date on everything that’s been going on?”
Raphael crossed his hands over his lap as he crossed his legs. “God informed me of everything about Dylan. Rachel is a part of her story.”
“Good. Did he also tell you about these dark souls? Maybe how we’re supposed to defeat them?”
“He said Dylan is the key.”
Stiles wanted to laugh. Of course he’d said that. Dylan was always the key. They simply didn’t know how to use her.
This whole thing was just one, big mess of frustration.
Raphael didn’t understand Stiles’ silence.
“Dylan is the savior, correct? She is meant to save humanity and watch over it for eternity?”
“She is. But she’s not quite ready to move into that role.”
“Why not? She was created for it.”
“It’s complicated. Everything having to do with humanity usually is.”
Raphael leaned forward and studied Stiles. “Well, it is nice to see you again. It has been much too long.”
“You remember me? We only met on a few occasions.”
“Yes, but I remember every angel I’ve met. You are, after all, my brother.”
“Can I ask you something?” Stiles said.
Raphael shrugged. “Anything.”
“When you were on Earth with your legion, before Lucifer, you took a wife? A human wife?”
DARK SOULS (Angels and Demons Book 2) Page 9