If I can just get my lips to touch hers, everything will be okay again. That magic will be in the air, and she will love me, she’ll let me in. I’ll be able to see her, talk to her, embrace her. I just need to—
She pulls away with enough force to make me stumble. I shake my head hard, almost falling as she throws herself away from me.
“What the hell are you doing!”
“I just—” Some sissy excuse comes to mind, but I shrug it away with the force of my rage. The pain of my rejection.
“If it’s good enough for Gabriel, its good enough for me. He throws himself on you regularly, and you give him more warmth than you give me. It seems that’s the only way to get any affection from you.”
Her mouth drops open, eyes wide with surprise.
“Are you serious?”
I take a step towards her. “Deadly. I know you love me, want me. I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
She stays still, only her defiant eyes moving as I step closer. Her pretty red mouth sets in a hard line, body language closed against me.
But she doesn’t step back. I step forward again.
She’s just teasing. She’s going to let me kiss her. If Gabriel can get away with forcing kisses on her, so can I. She’s always hated him—I’ll be damned if I see him get more attention from her than I do.
My need is screaming in my blood, making me weak. My thoughts are running too fast, near desperation. Nothing can make me feel this helpless, nothing except her.
Why can’t she see that? Why is she pushing me away? Doesn’t she know I need her? Doesn’t she realize how much she’s hurting me?
I know, she needs me too. She just doesn’t realize it yet. I just need to touch her. I just need to get my arms around her, press my lips against hers and everything will be fine.
I’ll heal both of us. I just need a kiss. Oh, God. I need to touch her.
I step forward again, encouraged by the fact she doesn’t pull away. I don’t care about her hard glare, the thin line of her mouth. All I care about is that she isn’t pulling away.
She wants it. She’s letting me get close. I knew it. I’m right.
I reach out, smiling. I lean my head down, thinking of nothing except the sweet release of her mouth.
The slap, when it comes, is a complete shock.
I hear the crack across my cheekbone before I feel the impact. I’m down on one knee, catching myself with a hand before I know what’s happening. I reach up with one hand, blood blotting into my hand.
I look up in disbelief, but she’s already running.
“Ebony!” I scream after her, but she just keeps going.
It’s probably a good thing. I don’t know if I want to kiss her or kill her.
20
Gabriel
The day of Cordelia’s funeral is finally here.
I stand at the main entrance of the school, the mid-morning light far too bright for such a day. People are gathering around, waves of dark clothes shifting through the doors and out on to the grounds.
Because of the uncertainty surrounding her death, many inquests have been held over the past few weeks. The evidence had to be examined both physically and magically. That includes her body.
Her family understood the necessity and took their time arriving, knowing the chance to say goodbye would come once the proper procedures were performed.
A good number of the school has turned out to pay their respects. Cordelia was well-liked. She could be harsh at times, we all knew that, but beneath it all, there was a giving heart. A truly nurturing soul. She will be missed by many.
Someone comes forward, ringing a small bell. We immediately fall into two lines of black-clad pallbearers, moving slowly through the grounds.
We head in a direction most people never take. To the left of the school, into the twisted woods, lays the cemetery. So many are born, live, and die here, never leaving the safe haven of the school. It’s one of the reasons it was chosen for Ebony to live in.
It takes some time winding through the trees to get to the spot. It’s not like a human cemetery with cleanly cut grass and plastic plants. It’s a vast field where grass grows wild and vines dotted with wildflowers reach up to cover the headstones. It is a place very rarely disturbed, not often visited.
We file into a corner of the clearing hung by crossed branches. The hole is dug, and her casket rests beside it, already on a system of pulleys. The large crowd is arranged around the hole, one of the senior wizard priests steps forward solemnly.
He looks around the crowd, offering the usual words of comfort and sorrow. I find I can’t bear to hear it. We knew Cordelia, we really knew her. She deserves better than empty words. I know, we’ll all get to say our piece, and at the wake, we’ll share personal stories. It doesn’t make these bland, impersonal words any less insulting.
I have to move back through the crowd. I feel shaky like I haven’t eaten or slept for days. My stomach is dropping out on me, and I can see black spots in front of my eyes.
I get some distance away and lean heavily on a tree. It seems sad and friendly like it would comfort me if it could.
I try hard to draw breath through my burning throat. My eyes sting. I’m lost in memories that assault my senses, not just my mind. The smell of her cooking. The warmth of her kitchen echoed by her snug embrace. Her words of love to me that always seemed to come when I needed them most.
Yeah, she knew we had a rough task on our hands, a hard destiny to face. She was chosen for her steel as well as her mothering nature. But she was a mother to me. Right now, my chest feels ragged and empty like my heart got carved out with a rusty dagger.
When I look back up at the crowd, I see Ebony struggling through the pressed bodies. Her eyes are wet, tears streaming down her cheeks. She chokes on her sobs. She looks up, sees me there, at that moment when our eyes meet, I know we share the exact same feeling.
I hurry towards her, for the first time, thinking of holding her without arousal, without any ulterior motive. I need the hug as badly as she does and it’s an affection born of family, familiarity, not any hidden agendas.
We come together, her head rests on my chest as I cradle her head against me. My chest heaves, and she gasps against my chest, horrible, wracking sobs muffling against my shirt.
A few people are crying, but Ebony is weeping with the strength of a daughter. Her loss cuts her deep to the bone. I can’t imagine how she feels—she lost Cordelia before all of us did, in a sense.
Although, after the whole cobbler thing, Ebony was mostly angry. With Cordelia still alive, there’s always hope to grow. Now there is none.
No second chances. No explanations. No apologies. Just death and empty, longing loss.
I cup Ebony’s head close to me and look up, watching the ceremony from the back of the crowd. The wizard priest is going into some personal accounts now, making heads nod all through the congregation. I have the ridiculous thought that I’m not even sure Cordelia would like the service. It seems even more ridiculous that I can’t ask her about it.
It’s like reaching for a limb that doesn’t exist. Every time you try to lean on it, you fall down.
Ebony snuggles against my side, letting me keep an arm around her. She watches the service with a serious, drawn expression. The dark circles under her eyes make her seem even more fragile and delicate. She sniffs, holding a hand to her face.
We move a little closer to the grave. Ebony eyes the casket with sad, haunted eyes. The wizard priest is talking with great hope about absolution, resolution, and reincarnation. If he goes towards necromancy, I’m going to punch him. It’s still done, even at a school with a high reputation like this… But surely, no one would dare.
We move in a little closer to toss some small white flowers into the grave. They look like tiny daffodils. A few people nearby throw their flowers in, dabbing their faces with black kerchiefs. People stand close to each other all around the circle, preparing for the final words and the en
d of the ceremony.
I’m desperate for it to end. I’m not even sure I want to go to the wake. I feel like I should just wander off into the forest and lose myself in my memories. Perhaps Cordelia will visit me in a dream, and tell me she’s okay.
Ebony snuggles closer against me, and I don’t feel even a flicker of carnal urges. I’m content with her comfort and the fact I can lend her support gives a warmth to me that her kisses never could.
As they start to lower the coffin, people begin to move away. I want to as well—the show’s over, after all. Something keeps me there, staring at the dark casket.
As it tilts, getting into position above the hole, sunlight flashes across the silver plaque across the top. I feel like it lances straight into my pupils, burning them like a laser. I grab my temple with one hand, keeping Ebony snuggled against me with the other arm.
The flashing white light plays images across my eyes, like strobes. In each flash, I see things. Horrible things.
I see myself hurting Ebony. Holding her tight until my big hands bruise her arms. Pulling her close to me, kissing her too hard as she struggles to get free. I see my hands all over her, laughing as she struggles.
I start to gasp, pulling away from her. She looks at me, startled. When she reaches out to touch my arm, soft, loving, and gentle, it’s too much for me. That she could move to comfort me when I’m thinking such awful things.
The silver light flashes again, hurting my eyes like daggers of steel. I turn away from Ebony again, covering my eyes. It doesn’t help. The images are behind my eyes, and they are growing in intensity and violence.
Gasping, I turn to Ebony, careful not to hold out a hand or touch her. I can feel a rage rumbling in me, far off. I don’t think I would hurt her, but—
I open my mouth to ask her if she can see it. Begging to believe this is a vision, a trick, designed to pull us apart when we are finally close. She turns her head at the sound of dirt hitting the top of the coffin.
It’s been lowered into the hole, and the pulleys have been taken off. As the first shovel of dark, moist earth hits the silver plaque, the images blur. When each load of dirt scatters across the casket, the images fade further. Like a terrible headache recedes as aspirin suffuses in your blood.
I watch Ebony, who’s turned towards the grave. She’s watching with big, sad eyes.
I want to go to her, but I’m afraid to touch her.
The anxiety in me rises, swallowing my grief.
Did I see the future? Did I see what will be, or only what might be?
It’s terrifying. I may have been forceful in the past, but I never wanted to hurt her. I don’t want to be that guy.
Watching her soft, pretty face, I know I’ll do anything to stop this vision from coming to pass.
21
Leo
It’s a struggle to keep my face impassive. It’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I hope I’m coming off serious and stern. That would be an acceptable demeanor. I can’t manage sad. Not today. Not right now.
Fury is riding me, blinding rage. I can feel it in my every cell.
I can’t stand to see Gabriel’s hands on her.
When she left the crowd nearest the casket, I almost went to her. It was as natural and reflexive as breathing. I’ve grown so used to casually touching her, seeing her eager face as I pull her against me. In her grief, I knew I was the one who should comfort her.
But not in front of the whole school.
I think that part maddens me just as much as the fact my arms aren’t the ones around her right now. The fact it should be me—she would want it to be me—but I can’t show my feelings because of socially contrived roles I am forced to obey.
I run it over in my mind, trying to look solemn while my blood boils. Would it be permissible for the principle to hug her? Surely, I could comfort a student, the daughter of the dear deceased? That wouldn’t be against social rules, would it?
With intense frustration, I feel I cannot hide, I know that a nod and a quiet word is all I am allowed to give her in a place this public. Tearing over there and ripping her from Gabriel’s arms would certainly not be acceptable. I know that.
But it’s all I want to do.
I can’t understand why she ignores my advice when she's the one who asked for it, after all. I told her to keep away from temptation, to stay away from all of them and the confusing feelings they raise.
I told her if she’s going to grow as a warrior and in magic, she needs to focus on herself and not on boys. She explained her fears and frustrations. I listened warmly and told her with complete objectivity that she should keep her distance and not allow herself to be distracted.
This seemed to affect her deeply, the idea that she should see to herself without looking to anyone else. I could see it strengthened her resolve.
Yet here she is, twisted in Gabriel’s arms. My hands actually try to flicker towards them as she pulls in close to his chest and sobs.
Swallowing hard, I look down at the casket. I can’t keep my eyes down. They slide back up, roaming over them, standing just outside the circle of mourners.
His hands seem to be staying loosely around her shoulders. Her hands are locked around his waist. Holding each other and crying is okay. So long as it’s just that. I can deal.
It doesn’t stop frustration itching at me, the sight of him touching her lights a fire within me. I want to tear her out of his arms. I want to destroy him.
I force my eyes back to the coffin again.
I can’t stop the hurt. She should be with me. She is with me! How can she go to him, so willing, so open? Doesn’t she feel like she’s betraying me?
Isn't she longing for my touch, just as I long for hers?
While she clutches to Gabriel and they walk back to the grave, she doesn’t even look up at me. It’s like I’m not even here. She has her man, and that’s all she needs.
I blink hard, crossing my arms. I try to look sympathetic. Sorrowing. I don’t think I’m pulling it off.
To my surprise, Gabriel staggers away from her, quite suddenly. He looks like he had a blow to the head, one hand coming up to shield his eyes. Ebony moves after him, talking urgently.
Maybe he’s having some kind of fit. Serves him right. Perhaps it’s an aneurysm.
I pray to all the gods in hell or heaven, it’s an aneurysm.
As dirt starts to fall on the coffin, he seems to recover. Ebony drags him to his feet by one arm, wrapping herself around his waist. She cuddles close to him, looking down into the grave then turning back towards school. Gabriel leans into her, and they walk away, gripping each other,m their bodies pressed together.
I contain my fury with incredible effort. I blink hard, and for a moment, I forget where I am. A nearby voice is talking urgently, and I realize, it’s speaking to me.
“Sorry?” I ask, voice snapping out more forcefully than I intended.
“Oh, I’m sorry headmaster. You did not hear?” The wizard priest nods sympathetically. “It is to be expected. You have heavy thoughts on your mind. I was asking if you will be long here?”
“Why?” I can’t help glaring at him. It’s my school, I’ll stay where I want as long as I want.
“I don’t intend to rush you—take all the time you need. But the mourners are moving off, and you are expected to speak at the wake.”
Of course! What a damn fool. How did I manage to end up with this much responsibility?
“Of course.” I try to smile, and I don’t quite make it. I look quickly in the direction of the departing congregation and see Ebony and Gabriel still twisted around each other. My jaw sets as my nostrils flare.
“You seem terribly upset.” The poor fellow gives me a sympathetic look. “Are you well?”
“Yes. Perfectly. I apologize. It’s just the grief, you know.”
He nods again, eyes big and sad.
“Just give me a few moments. I would like to pay some personal respects.
I will be along at the wake shortly but don’t wait around for me. Let them eat and drink and remember her. I may find myself—overcome.”
He nods in understanding, turning away and leaning on his staff as he crosses the uneven field.
I glower into the hole as the two gravediggers steadily fill it.
Overcome. With rage.
I cross my arms even tighter, feeling my muscles locking against each other.
I’m so hurt. So betrayed. After what we have shared, I never imagined she could go to the others. She’s been swayed by them before, but that was before she had me.
I’m suddenly assaulted by memory, back in the training room the other night. I can smell her, twirling before me as she flips her lance. I feel her pressing against me, her hands, her knees, her body…
Heat rising from her, falling into me. Lips, tongue, mine, all mine.
At that time, I know, she needed nothing but me. She did not even think about the others.
I blink hard, trying to get this into perspective. It’s bad enough that I couldn’t keep it together for the course of the funeral, I can’t go back into the school wearing this fury.
I take a few deep breaths. I need to think through my jealousy. Of course, I feel possessive. I’ve been waiting and waiting to get my hands on her, and now I have, I feel like I own her.
That is not a logical train of thought, and it's beneath my intelligence. I’m getting caught up on emotion.
The grave diggers seem to barely notice me as I take a step away from the grave. I feel nothing looking at it. Cordelia was a nice lady—most of the time—and for a long time, essential to our plan. She outlived her usefulness. That’s not my problem or my fault.
After she lost her ability to manipulate Ebony, she was no good to me.
When she planned to kill her, I knew I had to act. I couldn’t let her fulfill her mission.
My slow, deep breaths form a long, rattling sigh. As I let it out, my arms loosen, and I put them by my sides, clenching and unclenching my fists to loosen my fingers. I’ve been standing here in such a wrung-out state I didn’t notice I was hurting myself.
Forbidden Angel Page 10