A Matter of Time (The Angel Sight Series)

by Lisa M Basso

  “I love you.”

  My face burned with heat the instant I heard the words leave my mouth. I pulled back to look at him.

  He shook his head. “You’re confused, Ray. You don’t mean that—you can’t. After everything that’s happened—”

  “Kade, shut up.”

  I pressed up on my tiptoes and kissed him. His lips were almost as chapped as mine. His beard scratched my skin. And his lips didn’t respond.

  I lowered myself down, barely breaking the kiss, when his hands came up on either side of my face. A flutter awakened within me. He pressed his lips to mine, moving them eagerly. I let the towel drop, pooling at our feet, and touched a hand to his back where his wings should have been. Gone. They were gone. But he was still here, and not just here, with me, entangled in me. His tongue parted my lips. I responded by pressing against him, my wet clothes dripping between us. After so many years in Hell, separate, now was our chance to be together. He broke our kiss but didn’t push me away. Instead, he stroked the hair out of my face and tilted my chin up.

  I grabbed the front of his shirt, now wet from my clothes. I towed him toward me until the backs of my calves reached the end of the mattress. With another kiss, I tipped us back.

  Kade landed on top of me, his arms bracing his weight on either side of me. I wrestled his damp shirt over his head and scooted back toward the center of the bed. He followed, crawling forward, heat in his chocolate eyes. I hooked a leg over his hip, pulling him closer. His desire was present, pressed against me as he kissed my neck.

  My hands tangled in his hair, mussing it more than before. While his lips dipped lower on my neck, he splayed a hand across my stomach, the way he’d done a thousand times before, down in Hell. I swallowed a gasp. His other hand slipped behind my back. He struggled to get it between my wet shirt and skin.

  He stopped abruptly, dropping his head onto my shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked all breath and no voice.

  He shook his head, forehead still pressed to my shoulder. He said something, but the words got lost, muffled in my shirt.

  “One more time?” I asked.

  “We have to stop.”

  “Actually, this is one time where we don’t.”

  “Yes.” He looked up at me. His eyes were almost entirely black. “We do.”

  He pushed off me and paced the room. The front of his clothes was soaked.

  I was halfway between wanting to throttle him for not touching me and needing to crack up at how ridiculous we must have looked.

  “I need a minute,” Kade said, disappearing into the bathroom.

  I collapsed back onto the bed and ran my hands over my face, muffling my scream. Time. The one thing we simultaneously had and didn’t have. We couldn’t hide away forever. But for now, I had to give him what he needed. He would have done the same for me without question.

  In desperate need of a distraction, I rolled over and saw something I hadn’t in my equivalent of years. A television. Squealing, I grabbed the remote on the bedside table, flopped onto my stomach at the bottom of the bed, and switched it on.

  The TV buzzed to life. The gentle hum that came from an older TV, right before the picture came on, that was the sound of my childhood.

  More of my memories were filling back in by the minute, though I wasn’t as aware of them as I had been the horrific ones. They were merely liquid filling in the cracks.

  A news reporter on channel eleven said, “Welcome back. Today is day thirty-five of grounded U.S. airways. No incoming or outgoing flights have been permitted since the downing of flight eight-thirty-seven occurred on May eighteenth.”

  What the hell?

  The live feed switched to a pre-recorded video. The clip came from a shaky camera, pixilated and with bad frame-by-frame, like it had been filmed with an older cell phone. At first all it showed was sky, and then something zipped across the screen. The camera panned over to capture a Fallen, his black wings flapping. Flying. Out in the open.

  I gasped.

  To normal humans it would look as if a regular man was flying through the air, Superman without the cape. His wings would be completely invisible. Though I wasn’t sure that would make anyone watching the video any less freaked out.

  The Fallen collided with a passenger plane that had just taken off, ripping through the plane’s wing. The airplane tipped to the side and careened toward the runway in flames. The camera panned back to the Fallen, flapping in midair. He zeroed in on the camera and flew straight for it. The video switched to black.

  The news cut to a man in a suit behind a tall wooden podium, a sea of reporters and microphones in front of him. I recognized the man right away.

  Azriel.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rayna

  “What?” I hissed at the sight of Azriel on TV.

  Azriel leaned toward the rows of microphones and said, “This is what happens when our demands aren’t met.” His face remained stern, stoic, unlike when he had tortured me. That sick smile was gone now. “We have dozens of men in every major airport around the country. Watching. The skies are ours now.”

  I glanced away from the TV, not sure if I could take whatever might come next.

  “Kade?” I padded to the bathroom and opened the door.

  He was stepping out of the shower, water dripping down his completely naked body. He reached for a towel, but not in the hurried way I would have. He took his time, fully black eyes on mine.

  “Get out,” he said, voice low, purposely controlled.

  I turned away, pulse pounding. The loose towel rack clanged against the wall as he pulled a towel free. Managing his hunger after the feeding frenzy Lucien made me watch couldn’t have been easy. No doubt Kade was still coping with his demons.

  With my wits returning to me slowly, it took me a second to remember why I’d busted in on his shower. “What the hell is going on out there? There are Fallen smashing planes? Showing themselves?”

  Kade brushed by me in the doorway, the drops of water on his arm transferring to mine as he passed. He tucked the loose end of his towel in, the thin white terrycloth riding low on his hips. He glanced at the TV, still on, and then at me.

  The black faded from his eyes. “Shit.”

  “This should have been the first thing you told me when I called you from that payphone.”

  “I’ve been trying to keep you safe, which means out of this. It’s part of why I left you with Cam.” He punched the button on the front of the TV, switching it off. “They’re hunting you. These tactics, this is what they’ve been doing to try and flush you out. It started not long after we escaped Hell.”

  “How long were you planning on keeping this from me?”

  “I was going to tell you when you were better. When you were capable of processing it.”

  “I can process this just fine.” I crossed my arms, searching for a way to prove Kade wrong. “What are the angels doing about it?”

  He stood, tilting his head ever so slightly, judging me, measuring how I was really taking in the new information.

  “Don’t do this to me,” I warned.

  Kade sighed. I remembered those sighs. This one was the defeated kind. The one he’d shared once with me, that night up on our roof. During one of our training sessions. When we got close. That happened before I knew him completely, before I trusted him, before I discovered my feelings for Cam could be surpassed.

  Kade picked up the remote from the end table and switched the TV back on.

  The screen was split into two pictures. On the left the anchorwoman behind the desk straightened her papers. On the right an older man sat in a chair, speaking.

  “—being pushed out. The economy is suffering. The NASDAQ is still plummeting at a rapid rate. In just over a month, stocks have hit a record low. In fact, they are lower today than they have ever been in the history of the stock market, which includes the Great Depression, and Nine Eleven. As a nation, what are we expected to do?”
>
  The anchorwoman looked up from her papers and said, “Thank you, congressman.” The man on the left thanked her for having him. “Joining our conversation now is Senator Jennifer Greenback from Illinois. Ms. Greenback.”

  The woman now on the right side of the screen smiled her thanks.

  “Senator, can you tell us—”

  “Before we get started, Diane,” the senator interrupted, “I would like to bring up a point no one, as far as I know, has voiced yet.”

  “Of course,” the anchorwoman covered, but her eyes were all panic. Obviously this network didn’t work off-book very often. “Go right ahead.”

  “My concern is, what has happened to the president’s stance—the country’s stance—on not negotiating with terrorists? Granted, flight eight thirty-seven was a national tragedy, but for the leader of our nation to simply roll over and give these radicals what they want, this is something I don’t understand, Diane.”

  The anchorwoman floundered for a moment before the senator spoke again.

  “Another concern, can we go back to speculating why the terrorist’s only demand is the delivery of this teenage girl. What does Rayna Evans, a missing fugitive, have to do with any of this?”

  A picture of me replaced the split screen between the two women, my latest school picture in which my small smile was sad, leaving my eyes dull. A second picture came up. It was one taken of me the last time I was admitted at the SS Crazy. My hair was wild, my skin tinged a sickly green. I looked like an inmate. I swallowed around a newly formed lump in my throat. The entire country, probably the entire world, knew who I was. No wonder the militia boy with the unsteady hand wanted me dead.

  The camera cut away from my pictures and centered solely on the senator as she went on, “The president’s reports say ‘once we find her, we will know more.’ That isn’t good enough for the millions of people in danger in this country. When will he start protecting us? Why hasn’t every branch of the military been called in to settle this?”

  “Excuse me, Senator,” Diane interrupted. “We do have a new guest via satellite phone. General Benjamin Caulier. General, are you with us?”

  “I am.” The man’s voice was gruff, but not nearly as gruff as the picture they placed next to the senator would suggest. He was older, maybe in his sixties, with white hair and some semblance of a trimmed beard. “I would like the opportunity to answer some of the senator’s questions. The president has not given up on this country. He and his staff are working around the clock. Washington is on top of this. As for your concerns regarding Rayna Evans, I would like to reiterate that she is not a wanted fugitive.”

  The senator shook her head. “The released records from the San Francisco Police Department state that she is wanted for questioning in two unsolved murders.”

  “In this country, Senator, we believe a person is innocent until proven guilty. Wanted for questioning is often for an eyewitness testimony or statement.”

  “Next you’ll be saying, General, that her escaping from a Mental Health Clinic isn’t a valid concern for those searching for her. This country has dozens, maybe even hundreds of known terrorists on its soil. Add to that the armed civilians doing their part to try and locate her and our enemies have created a perfect storm, a recipe for disaster. This girl could be working with the terrorists. Another thing, her mental health is obviously not at what we would call ‘normal levels.’”

  “Senator, let me first clarify that the U.S. Government does not authorize, support, or encourage civilians taking matters into their own hands. Which is why we have a hotline in place. If you or someone you know believes you’ve come in contact with Rayna Jane Evans”—an eight-hundred number appeared in bold white letters below the general’s picture—“please call this number right away. For those of the population concerned, we are looking for the girl and collecting information. We have things under control.”

  “Control is not—”

  “If I could finish, Senator? Yes, we are concerned about the mental health of Miss Evans, which is why the National Guard, Army, Navy, Marines, and ground forces of the Air Force have been stationed at several major cities in the U.S.”

  I scrubbed a shaky hand across my face and hit the power button on the remote.

  “Had enough?” Kade asked, now fully dressed in his previously worn wrinkled denim and damp shirt. “If it makes you feel better, the Fallen have been looking for me too. Just not publicly. I guess they want me for themselves.”

  “This just keeps getting better.” My fingers tangled in my wet hair as I stared at the blank TV screen. “How did they manage to shut down the entire country?”

  “They have power, numbers. It was easy for them.”

  “The borders too? Mexico and Canada?”

  Kade nodded.

  All of this geography talk reminded me of Cam’s map. I gently plucked the soggy map out of my pocket and unfolded it. The wet paper tore at some of the folds. I laid it out on the table by the window. Most of the blue and red dots had bled through to other parts of the map.

  Kade walked up behind me. “Did you lift that from Cam, too?”

  “This was the only thing I took from him.” I pieced together the ripped parts and flattened it again.

  “That and the emergency contact number I left.”

  “Oh, yeah. And that.” I waved a dismissive hand. Stealing was the least of my sins. “Which are the Fallen and which are the angels?”

  “I haven’t been following it as closely as Cam, but I’d guess red are the Fallen, and blue are the angels.”

  I picked up the face towel I’d used to cool down when I first arrived. It was dry now. I used it to blot the heavily inked sections of the map. “I have to stop this.”

  “Not a chance. You’re not gonna give them exactly what they want.” Kade ripped the map out from under me. Part of it stuck to the table. He ended up with three-quarters and left me with the west coast.

  I pointed to the black TV screen. “You’ve seen what they’ve done. You know how ruthless they are. They have to be killing humans. Is there a death toll? Have they counted? And—how many of them are there? It’s like … all of them from … ”

  Another memory surfaced. The masks. The robes. In front of Lucifer’s ice castle. I sank into the nearest chair. “All of the Fallen from Hell. It’s like they’ve all come up. Can they do that? I mean, without Lucien is that possible? Or is he not truly dead?”

  “I have no idea what they can do and what they can’t when it comes to Hell. But if Az is the face of this and not Lucien, I think it’s safe to say he’s toast.”

  It was a small victory, one I let myself bask in for exactly half a second.

  “How many humans have they killed? Kade, how many do they have to kill before I do something about it?”

  “It’s not your job to do something about it.”

  “You’re wrong. This is my only job! They may have put this thing inside my mother to make her kill the angels, but it’s in me now. I’m going to use it the way I want. Against them. I’ll take out every last one of them. One by one if I have to.”

  “I’m not letting you do this.”

  “I’m not asking for permission. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “This whole time, all I’ve been trying to do is keep you safe. Maybe Cam implanted this idiotic hero complex inside you when he—”

  “This is what I need to do. I’m sorry, Kade, but I … I have to go.”

  “Where? Anywhere you go, you’ll be seen and captured—or killed.”

  “I have to go … ”

  I looked down at the map. At the biggest purple splotch on the map. San Francisco. I looked back at him, at the tall, angry mess of him.

  “I have to go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kade

  If any other person on this Earth wanted to throw their life away trying to fight the Fallen, I’d gladly stand aside and watch them fail. But Ray wasn’t any other person. And she was freakin
g me the fuck out because nothing I said seemed to make any sense to her. She’d made her decision.

  “I hate this,” I muttered again, in case she didn’t hear me the first fifty times.

  Ray kept that indignant look in her eyes. “It’s what I have to do.”

  “I would have done anything to keep you out of this. Anything. You can still walk away.” Why couldn’t she just understand?

  “Maybe now. But where am I going to go when there’s nothing left? I would have let everyone down. Laylah, my dad, Lee. Everyone.”

  I sighed. None of them were worth half of her. “I hate it. I absolutely hate it, but if you’re doing this stupid shit, I’m going with you.”

  “I can’t let you—”

  “It’s not up for discussion.” I dropped onto the lumpy mattress and looked at her. The purple circles under her eyes, the rings on her tired face. “We can get an early start in the morning—if that’s okay with you.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “One last night.”

  With me still watching, she peeled off her top and hung it over one of the chairs. The cotton was still damp from her shower. I averted my gaze, but could still see her rolling her wet shorts down her legs from the corner of my eye. She draped those over the back of the other chair. She walked around the foot of the mattress where I sat, wearing nothing but her bra and underwear, and crawled into bed.

  What are you doing to me?

  Blood roared in my ears. When I was sure I had myself under control, no trace of gray in my vision, I stood and looked at her.

  She sat up on the side of the bed, the sheet pulled up to her chest, holding it there with one hand. “If this is really our last night … like this … ”

  I shook my head, not ready to hear another damn word out of her mouth right now.

  “Kade, I don’t want to wait any longer.” She moved forward, kneeling in the center of the bed. And she dropped her hand. The sheet pooled by her knees.

  I looked at her, her face, her body, dressed in so little, taking it all in. Then I cast my eyes down again. “Ray, I—you have no idea how much I want you, but—not like this. When this is all over—”