Only One I'll Have (UnHallowed Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  His hair fanned out to hide most of his face as he hung his head. “We didn’t tell her to protect her. We did it to protect ourselves from her pain.”

  His red-rimmed eyes met hers, so full of sadness she wanted to turn away. She had enough sadness in her life already.

  “How do I fix it?”

  “I don’t know, Chay. I wish I did, for both our sakes.” God, she missed her best friend, but she didn’t blame her. If the situation was reversed, Scarla would’ve cut herself off too.

  “Her mother has cancer,” Chay said.

  Oh, fuck. How much more could Sophie take before she broke?

  “That’s why she’s not here.”

  She had a flash of anger over him telling Sophie about her ass-kicking, and got over it quickly. Whether over the phone or on a billboard, what did it matter? It wasn’t a national secret. Sophie would find out eventually, especially since Scarla’s bedroom was a revolving door of UnHallowed. She should charge admission.

  “Is that where you were, with Sophie, when I”—she cleared her throat—“was in the cage?”

  “Yes.”

  Scarla figured as much, but something bothered her, had bothered her almost since she woke. Each UnHallowed was linked to each other, that’s how Sammiél knew the UnHallowed were in trouble when they were all captured in Siberia. She had a similar connection, only not as deep with all of them. Her deepest connection was with Chay. When she hurt—skinned knee, hurt feelings—Chay always came running, first one there. Always. He’d never failed her. Never.

  So why wasn’t he there this time? Even if he was with Sophie, he had to feel her pain, know she was in trouble. Scarla stared at him through childish eyes that loved him as a daughter loved a father.

  His hand still covered hers. A long time ago, before she knew better, she’d pretend she could touch him and draw his strength inside her, much like he could siphon the energy out of an opponent at will. The only UnHallowed who had that power. She could never do that. She was just a Halfling, though when she touched an UnHallowed, she could feel the link connecting them. It was the only way she knew it even existed. For everyone except Chay, the link was a faint thread, a wisp she had to hunt.

  She squeezed Chay’s hand. Usually, their connection was right there, on the surface of the skin, a bond forged when he found her on a July night abandoned in a Kentucky field. Today, she got nothing.

  Chay threaded his fingers through hers, anchoring her. It wasn’t enough. It was gone, their connection and everything she was. Scarla had never been more alone in her entire life.

  Chay’s phone rang. She pulled away, but his grip tightened, he refused to release her as he fished his phone out of his back pocket. “It’s Sophie.”

  She didn’t miss his surprise or his pleasure as he said, “Hello.” Which slowly morphed into fury with each muffled word from the other end of the phone.

  Chay released Scarla’s hand and stood in one swift motion, crimson blazing from his eyes. “Repeat what you just said.”

  Again, the muffled voice filtered through the phone. A female voice, Scarla guessed. Chay didn’t say a word as the voice rambled and finally ceased. In a low voice full of aggression, Chay rumbled, “Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chay walked into the police station, wrap around shades hiding the red circling his irises from the humans. He paused inside the doorway, took in the police milling behind a glass partition separating one-fourth of the large room from the public, an officer manning a raised desk, and the six individuals waiting in chairs lining the walls. The plaques on the wall, the pictures of POTUS, the governor, and the mayor, situated between the United States flag and the state flag were incidental, as was the stale, mildew scent permeating the air.

  He drew their attention and their speculation. He wanted it.

  Power rolled through him, sweet and gratifying. He hadn’t felt so strong since before he fell. Not quite equal to the amount he once wielded, but so much more than he had. Thank you, Braile. The Powerful One had returned.

  “Sleep,” he whispered. Six humans slumped in their chairs, their heads lolling on their necks. Not a special talent. UnHallowed hadn’t lost the skill when they fell. Putting someone to sleep and erasing their minds were two different things. He blocked Sophie’s memories because he hadn’t the skill to do it without botching it. A fact she refused to understand.

  With Braile’s grace swimming below the surface of his skin, he could do more than block memories. He could change minds, alter perceptions on a global scale at full power. The two officers in the restaurant yesterday was a test. The human mind was fragile, malleable, except for the rare few whose will was strong enough to resist. He thought about his other power—siphoning—the ability to take the powers of others, celestial and demons alike.

  He hadn’t actually lost that power after the Fall. But where once there were no consequences using the ability, his disgrace made the consequences of siphoning the power of an enemy grave to use. What was his right as an archangel, what he lost when he fell, was now returned to him, a power he never thought to have again.

  The itch was there, waiting to be scratched. It would be so easy to sway Sophie’s opinion of him. One small tweak and all would be forgiven. The thought, once an ember in the back of his brain, had grown into a small bonfire.

  He approached the officer behind the desk, who eyed him with concern. An older man, late fifties, Chay guessed, going by the gray at his temple and soft middle. The humans in the waiting area he put to sleep because chances were slim that they had anything to do with Sophie. That wasn’t the case with this officer.

  Chay removed his shades and let the crimson swamp his vision. The officer’s instinct to flee died the moment it flared in his eyes as Chay took over the human’s mind and will. So easy, not the struggle it used to be. After the Fall, taking over the mind of a human was a brutal, sledgehammer affair that often left the human a vegetable. It took him millennia to perfect the technique he used on Sophie.

  Now, full of Braile’s grace, Chay stared into the officer’s mind and sifted through his memories between blinks. He found the memory of Sophie’s arrival at the substation and wiped it clean, then he told him to sleep.

  An officer on the other side of the plexiglass partition saw the desk officer slump in his chair. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Good. He had everyone’s attention. With a thought, he locked the front door to the building and unlocked the door restricting access to the rest of the building. The fifteen officers and six detectives drew their weapons as he passed into their domain.

  “Stop where you are!” “Don’t move, asshole.” “Hands up.” Came from every quarter.

  He obeyed and raised his hands. One by one, he met their gazes. First, he took hold of their will, freezing them in position. Second, he removed any memory they had of Sophie and this moment, and lastly, he had them return to their desks, where they slumped into their chairs, asleep. All except one, the one who arrested Sophie and processed her into the system.

  He commanded him to sit at his desk. Since erasing her information from the computer wasn’t possible once it was input, Chay had the officer alter it. All charges were now dropped and the case closed. It wasn’t a lie. Chay had already visited the hospital and erased all the memories of any of the staff who had witnessed Sophie attacking her stepfather. He hadn’t visited Bobby or his girlfriend yet. But he would.

  With a flex of his power, the lights winked out, leaving the glow from the exit signs over a few key doors. Shadows curled, reaching for him. They cloaked him in their cool embrace. When they unfurled, he stood in the rear of a dim corridor in the basement of the station. To his right, a processing station for fingerprints, photographs, and measurements manned by a single man.

  Chay scrubbed his mind with brutal efficiency. His power pressed at the limits of his control, greedy for more, fighting him. Straining, he reeled it back in, worried over his lack of con
trol. It wasn’t like this before the Fall, obviously. He had to be careful. Losing control of his power would be disastrous.

  A few turns and a few more officers brought him to the holding cells. Males down one hall. Females on the other side. He passed through an unlocked metal door and crossed into the other side. Three cells in this section, two females in each of the first two cells.

  “Who do we have to thank for this fine piece of flesh?”

  “I’m the one you’re searching for, baby.”

  “What’s wrong with his eyes?”

  Chay ignored everyone and focused on the female in the last cell. The one that brought him here. Thirty-six hours, that’s how long she’d been here. Thirty-six hours too long. Tears cleaned a path through her dirt-streaked cheeks and a dark smudge covered her chin. Her hair was wild, untamed, and damn him, he loved it. If only her cornflower blue eyes weren’t cold. Fear squeezed his chest. The light in her eyes, the spark that he and Scarla had nurtured for two years was gone, as it was the night they found her bleeding out on a seedy hotel rug in a filthy room—a gun clutched in her hand—the bodies of her boyfriend and her brother a few feet away.

  They got her to the hospital where her body healed, but not her mind. Not her heart. Six hours after her discharge came the first of many suicide attempts. He didn’t block her memories on a whim. Finding her wrists slit, more blood than water filling the bathtub she sat in, the terror of losing her… Either he blocked her memories or lose her. He refused to lose her.

  So he’d take her hate and continue to adore her. If that was all she had to give him, then so be it if it meant she continued to walk the earth.

  The cell opened. She didn’t even rise.

  “Hey! Open my cell! Come on. I’ll give you anything you want if you open the cell!”

  “Me too!” Came the calls from the other females. With a thought, he silenced the distraction.

  “Your mother called. I came as fast as I could.” She blinked as if processing the information, then rose slowly. At a snail’s pace, she came to him, her right wrist bandaged.

  “My cell phone?” she murmured. He nodded. Her gaze shifted from him to the bars to the dingy brown walls of her cage. “How did you get in here?” She shook her head and held up a hand. “Never mind.” She smoothed her torn shirt over her stomach. “You didn’t hurt anyone did you?”

  He was appalled that she had to ask and appalled at the rush of power threatening to break free. “No,” he snapped, but she seemed unfazed.

  “What did you do? I’m not leaving until I know what you did.”

  Her lack of trust grated. “I erased their memories of you, not blocked them like I did with you.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, then gave a sharp nod. Not much reassurance she believed him, but he’d take what he could get.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  She cradled her injury close to her body. “Nothing.” Then gave him a wide berth as she practically hugged the wall to make her way around him and exit the cell. She paused at the other cells to study the sleeping women. He waited a respectful distance behind her. She took her time winding her way through the building, analyzing every slack face. The elevator was a metal coffin—silent and cold—as it lurched its way to the ground floor. She stepped out and gasped. Pausing between the intake area and the waiting room on the other side of the glass wall, she took in the sprawled bodies of the police officers.

  A silent curse ricocheted in his brain. Should’ve put her to sleep and carried her out. But he promised, and shit, putting her to sleep against her will would destroy what little trust she still had in him. He’d do anything but risk that.

  “Did you knock everyone out in the building?” she whispered as if her voice would rouse them.

  “Yes. I’m also keeping anyone else from entering.”

  Her gaze cut to his and darted away with a grimace. He knew how he looked. Even with an injection of grace, he was still a red-eyed UnHallowed, fallen angel demon. “Could you do this before?” she asked.

  Not certain of what she meant, he replied, “When I was an archangel, I could control millions if that was the Maker’s will. Removing their memories would have required a single thought. After the Fall, I only had enough power to block your memories.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Before the Fall, a few had the capacity. After, no.” His answer seemed to appease her.

  Sophie shifted her attention back to the officers. “And now? Are you an archangel again?”

  No. Never would his name be linked with that of an archangel. He had no false hope. “I remain an UnHallowed.”

  “With the power of an archangel?” She pressed, moving toward the exit.

  “Some.” For however long it lasted.

  Chay kept a tight hold on every mind in the building until he unlocked the front door and Sophie stepped free. Yeah, it was easy. The hard part was doing nothing else. Her head tipped back, and her chest expanded on a long inhale. The tension in the lines of her face and body ebbed. Peace replaced exhaustion. He’d given her that, peace and freedom.

  “It’s Sunday, nine o’clock.” He figured she’d want to know.

  Focused on the starry night sky, she said, “Do I have anything to worry about? Any blowback?”

  Doubtful. He’d thought of everything, yet… “If there is, I’ll take care of it.”

  A ragged sigh escaped her and finally, her gaze shifted his way. “Thank you,” she said as if it pained her.

  She came to him, steps measured, real skittish as if he would ever hurt her, as if he wouldn’t lay down his life to protect her. She stopped an arms-length away. “Did she tell you why I’m here, arrested?”

  “No. Doesn’t matter. Tell me you killed ten people in cold blood and I still would’ve come. You would still be on the sidewalk, breathing fresh air, talking to me.”

  A wry smile twisted her pale lips. “That disturbs me as much as it pleases me.” A frown darkened her face. “My mother’s husband has a pregnant girlfriend. We ran into them at the hospital. Fucking bastard,” she growled. “My mother is fighting for her life and he leaves her high and dry. Starts another fucking family.”

  A spark ignited within her cornflower blue eyes. The same spark he witnessed when she told him to go fuck himself. She hadn’t lost it. “Do you want him dead?”

  Her gaze narrowed, and that spark flared, it twinkled within her black pupils, then dimmed as a war raged inside of her. He knew what her answer would be, though his offer wasn’t a lie. If she wanted her stepfather dead, he would hunt him down and bury him without pause. The grace in his system should’ve prevented the thought. Angels did not kill humans. Ever. He wasn’t an angel. As he reminded Sophie, he reminded himself. He was UnHallowed. And he’d never been prouder.

  “No,” she sighed, clearly disappointed. “I’m not that kind of person.”

  He agreed. She wasn’t a killer. She was Sophie. One of a kind. Sweet. Loyal. Beautiful. His. “I know you’re not.”

  But he was. Braile’s gift returned the power of an archangel, with none of the restrictions and no governing body to rule him—them. The shackles were gone.

  She folded her arms and rocked back, her gaze wandered around the parking lot. “So, what now?”

  “Now, I’ll find your stepfather and erase his and his girlfriend’s memories.”

  She nodded, then a calculating light entered her eyes and her spine straightened. “You think this squares things between us? Think now I should cut you a break?”

  Would be nice, but nothing was ever so simple. A car drove into the parking lot, her mother behind the wheel. “You don’t owe me anything.” Chay whipped his shades from his back pocket and shielded his eyes.

  The car door opened, and her mother eased out of the driver’s seat. “Thank God! Thank God you got her out!” She rushed over, not into Sophie’s arms, but into Chay’s.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Garner.” He patted her back caref
ully.

  She swung around to face Sophie, still holding onto him. “Isn’t he wonderful! I called and told him what happened, and he said he would take care of it. And he did! You’re free! How awesome is that!” Ellen couldn’t stop squealing.

  Sophie ducked her head, hiding, but he didn’t miss her grin. “It’s pretty awesome. I was thanking him when you pulled up.”

  “Oh!” Her mouth slid open in surprise, which changed into a sly chuckle. “Well, take your time. I’ll go wait in the car.” She dashed away full of energy.

  Sophie waited until Ellen closed the car door to speak. “She doesn’t care how you did it, just that it was done.” She snorted, irony layered thick. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful asking if I owed you anything. I’m not. I am deeply grateful for all you’ve done, today.” She clarified. “I just… I want you to know where I stand.” Her voice lowered with each word until it was nothing more than a whisper.

  This was the first crack in her leave me alone defenses. He should exploit it yet hesitated. Her forgiveness predicated because he forced the issue meant nothing. Ashes on his tongue. With the trust between them blown to hell, pushing her on this would fail, epically. And he wanted her trust back, wanted her to look at him without suspicion in her eyes, and much more with a desperate edge. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to find his way back to the place where their love was a foregone conclusion, the place where passion and not bitter regret lived.

  “Where do you want us to stand, Sophie?”

  Her eyes were always his first weakness. They darkened into deep lagoons, called him to drown in. Resisting the pull proved impossible. He moved closer, prepared for her to move away. She didn’t.

  “I’m still angry with you,” she bit out in a low voice that lacked the righteous fury he’d become accustomed to.

  “I understand.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck and huffed. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

  “I’m relieved. Your hate is the last thing I want.” He risked another step, bringing him even closer to her. When she didn’t tense, he took her hand in his, compared it to his own. Hers was soft, delicately made, though she’d worked hard, menial jobs since she was a teen. “I would say I’m sorry a thousand times if you would forgive me.”