Darkened Soul (When Watchers Fall)

by C. G. Blaine

  Save one; lose the other. But it was never meant to be a choice.

  It was always going to be him.

  Chaz is rubbing his thumbs in circles on my thighs.

  “Can Rosdan or Cass take me to the farm tonight?” I drop the gauze and place my hands on his chest, so I can heal him. “I don’t want to worry about demon attacks.”

  His thumbs stop moving. “Nyx, they won’t—”

  “Please.” I push down until I feel his heartbeat beneath my palms and glance up into his blue stare. “I want to be able to say goodbye to my sister in peace.”

  After Rosdan drops us to the farmhouse, I leave him and Chaz on the porch and head for the kitchen. One of the night nurses pops around the corner from down the hall. They set up shop in the den when they’re not in Nyla’s room. She gives me a soft smile before disappearing again.

  I find the black velvet pouch right where I left it last time—behind a dusty stack of china. The house came furnished, so who knows how long it’s been out of commission? As I jump down, I un-cinch the top and pluck out one of the crystals. I bring both with me in case either nurse wanders in, and I return to the entryway.

  “Rosdan said he’ll drop back whenever,” Chaz says, shutting the door. “I’ll take care of the nurses after I set up the protection barrier.”

  I nod while he empties another blocker bag onto the floor. “How long will it take?”

  “It will be up and working in a minute. I’ll chant for a few more, so we can stay however long you want.”

  He fishes the amulet out of his pocket, wrapping his fist around the crystal. I can already see his muscles tensing, and it hasn’t even activated yet.

  I set my pouch and crystal on the small table along the wall. “Only chant as long as you need to.”

  He watches me, a grateful look in his eyes. I’m the only one not begging him to use it all the time to cover up the darkness.

  At the top of the stairs, I pause for a calming inhale and then a blow-out-the-bullshit exhale. Nyla’s already waiting when I walk in, and the first thing I notice is her nightgown. Blue and not at all hideous. I hid the white one the last time I was here. Someone needed to.

  “Did the creepy twin thing tell you I was coming, or were we just that loud?” I ask, toeing off my shoes at the bedside.

  She doesn’t answer, of course, and I climb over to the wall side of the bed. I stretch out, tipping my head against hers on the pillow. Her arms are thinner than a few days ago, her face more gaunt. According to the doctors’ original timeline, her body will only last another month. I’ve only made it to eighty-eight before I hit the fast-forward button.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  Tired eyes move to their corners in a look that says, Like shit, Nyxie.

  In my mind, she still sounds young, her laugh bright, hair dark, and she has a never-ending supply of shimmer to her.

  “Do you remember when we were eight, and Papa was still trying to tell us stories, warning about The Fallen?” I pause as if she might answer. “Then you sat up in bed one night and told him he was a liar. They were strong and fearless, and you were going to find one and prove him wrong. He said you’d never live long enough and then stormed out, refusing to tell us bedtime stories ever again.”

  I pick a piece of fuzz off the pillow between us. “I’m the one who found him, so you’re welcome.”

  Her eyes smile, and mine tear up.

  “I can’t save you, Ny. You’ve been telling me that for a long time, but I finally get it.” I wipe my cheek on the shoulder of her nightgown. “I don’t know a world without you in it. I don’t know what it looks like or feels like…”

  There’s a brush of something on my shoulder, and when I look down, her hand’s coming up to smooth over my hair.

  I smile and let out a sob disguised as a laugh. “Such a show-off lately.”

  Her chest moves a little, a soft hum with it. She brings her hand up again and runs it down. I close my eyes, amazed at how much a simple touch can hold. All the words and smiles I’ve missed the past few months are right here.

  “I’m sorry I can’t keep you longer,” I say.

  And I’m sure she’s sorry she can’t stay.

  I lie with her the entire night, falling in and out of sleep. The floorboards creak more than once. I watch Chaz’s shadow eclipse the light from the hall. Not once does he come in and ask if we can leave. Just darkens the doorway for a few minutes and then retreats.

  Eventually, I stay asleep, waking up after dawn has already started streaming through the windows. Nyla’s resting comfortably despite the slight rattle with each inhale. A sound I’ve heard before.

  I sit up to scoot down the mattress to her feet when I notice Chaz across the room. He’s passed out in the most uncomfortable-looking rocking chair. The knit blanket he has draped over him only covers his chest and arms.

  Trying to keep from waking two people, I carefully move to the end of the bed and untuck the sheet and comforter. I draw the covers back and sigh at the purplish splotches from her toes to her ankles. The doctors’ timeline was off. She only has a week—or she would have only had a week. But we made a deal a long time ago to let each other go before the end-end.

  One of her big toes taps, and I look up to her waiting. So much for being stealthy.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, flipping the covers down.

  The springs squeak as I crawl over her to the edge of the bed. I slip on my shoes to avoid the draft on the floor and check the angel in the corner. Once I see his deep and steady breaths, I cross the room to her side. Nyla rotates her hand, palm up, as I reach her. I slip mine into it and squeeze. Hard. Then I stare at the sheets beside her.

  A tug brings my attention up, and I swallow back the threat of tears, seeing the worry in her eyes.

  I force a small smile. “I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

  Her eyes move behind me and then back to mine, and her grip tightens. I want to ask her if she’s scared, but she’d say no regardless of the truth. She stares up at me for a minute before her eyebrows dip. I know what she wants. She wants me to say goodbye.

  “Not until you do.”

  She squeezes my hand again, and I shake my head.

  “The deal is, we say goodbye. I don’t trust you to uphold your end if I go first.”

  And now, my sister is glaring at me on her deathbed, but when I loosen my hold, hers bears down. We stand off until her lids close.

  “Goodbye.” Her voice is hoarse, the word a whisper, but it’s everything I fucking need.

  I clamp my eyes shut, burying a sob. “Goodbye, Nyla.”

  My jaw clenches, and I only focus on breathing. Her pulse speeds under the tip of my thumb where it touches her wrist as she manipulates the life inside her to its end. The pace quickly slows, the space between beats growing longer and longer … and then nothing. My eyes stay shut while I search for any hint of what’s always been there, but I can’t sense the life force inside her anymore.

  I can’t feel my sister.

  I whimper, and the rocking chair groans behind me. Nyla’s hand falls back to her side when Chaz pulls me to him. His arms envelop me, and I fist the back of his shirt. My nose is buried in him when I take my first breath without her.

  With the exception of my last one, Nyla and I always moved after a resurrection to avoid people noticing one of us had aged in reverse overnight. We’d be each other’s aunt or grandmother, depending on who looked the part. I haven’t dealt with a permanent death in over a century. Fortunately, being taught to live under the radar with minimal acquaintances cuts out a lot of the work. A few phone calls, a little paperwork. Still plenty more than when Papa died though.

  By the time I get in the shower that night, I’ve gone from raw nerve ending to desensitized. My heart is beating, my lungs breathing, my soul in my body. I’m not the one who died, but I’ve never felt less alive. Numb and in slow motion. I get it now—why Kai jumps off cliffs and chases the adrenaline rush. Not
feeling alive while you still are is terrifying even if it allows you to avoid the pain.

  When I get to the bedroom, Chaz is on the edge of the bed. His hooded eyes dance over me in the towel, and the spark reaches my skin. My fucking cliff. He plants his hands on the mattress behind him as I crawl right onto his lap, my hair dripping on his bare chest. His is still damp from his own shower. I put my arms around his neck, and he leans back, tipping his face up.

  “Touch me.”

  “You’ve had a long fucking day,” he says.

  “I have. And right now, I want you to touch me.”

  He shifts his weight to one arm, and he pushes his hand into my hair. “You forgot to say, Simon says.”

  He’s studying my mouth, so I bring it closer. Our noses graze, but his lips stay a few charged air particles away, his breath teasing my skin. I press a palm to his chest, wanting his heart beating against it. Then I push further below the surface, down to the life flowing through him.

  We both move at the same time then—him sitting up and me sliding forward.

  “Touch me,” I say again, feeling him hardening beneath me. “Please.”

  My breaths are more desperate, and he pushes under the towel, up my thigh. He slips his hand the rest of the way around, gripping my ass to hold me to him while his hips flex into me. I skim my hands up his neck, into his hair, and when I rock against him, his fingers dig into my flesh.

  “We don’t have to do this tonight, Nyx.” But he keeps drawing me to him, rubbing his erection where I want him. His lips stay just out of reach. After four days of missing them on me—and hating myself for it—the near touch of them pulses through me.

  “Kiss me.”

  His chest heaves against mine, his face conflicted until his gaze drops to my mouth.

  “Fuck it,” he says.

  He slams his lips onto mine, growling, and in the next breath, his tongue plunges into my mouth. My body responds the way it always has to him, slowly coming back to life.

  I gasp as he tears the towel off, flinging it across the room. He breaks the kiss and dives down, grazing his teeth over one of my nipples before pulling it into his mouth. When I arch into him, he leans forward, lowering me onto his arm behind me, and then he sucks the other nipple in. I lock my arms around his neck and let him bite and lick the sensation back into me.

  “God,” Chaz rasps, “I missed this body.”

  He drags his tongue down, pushing me back until he can trail it all the way to my stomach. I move my hips against him, and he groans, dipping into my belly button before he pulls me upright. Our mouths collide again while he turns us around. Chaz crawls onto the bed with me wrapped around him and nudges his sweatpants and boxers down all at once. He lowers me to the mattress and pulls away to finish kicking them off, and then he’s between my legs. I try to pull him to me, but he hovers over me, keeping his mouth out of reach again.

  “Yeah, baby?” he says, his hand cooling against the back of my thigh. “You want something?”

  “You, Chazaqiel.” I clasp my hands behind his neck and bring myself up to kiss him.

  It elicits a groan from him, and he suddenly scoops me off the bed. He pulls me into his lap as he sits back on his heels, so I’m straddling him again. His hands roam over me before they settle on my hips and urge me up. I gasp as I lower onto him, and he pushes his forehead into my collarbone.

  “Fuck,” he hisses.

  I slide up and sink back down with Chaz gently thrusting up into me. One of his hands runs the length of my back, a chill crawling my spine. I feel the shadows on my skin. Every touch and breath from him. He’s resurrected me from wherever I was. The emotionless limbo that was fogging my brain.

  My lips latch on to his. This time, they press harder, asking if he missed more than my body. If he wants all of me like I want all of him. And when he cradles my face in his hands and pulls back, I see it in his eyes before I hear it.

  “I want us to be done now,” he says.

  Our bodies keep moving, almost as if they were working separately from the rest of us. His arm wraps around my waist, and his other grips the nape of my neck.

  “What are we done doing?”

  He kisses me, deep and heated, and then his blue eyes drag me so far under that I know they’re not letting me out again. “Pretending you haven’t been mine since the first time you said my name.”

  I really have been. He just has no idea it was long before the bar.

  My lips race back to his. I thread my fingers through his hair, grinding down on him harder. My thighs tighten around him, and I’m sure he can feel my heart hammering through my chest, crushed to his.

  Chaz pumps into me, not losing the rhythm while he inches me over the edge. The fall hits me hard, and I cry out, so overwhelmed that I barely notice him hiking me up and dropping me back onto the mattress until my head hits the pillow.

  A needy sound rumbles in his throat as my body continues to shudder around him, and he drives into me faster, rutting deeper. I hook my legs around his waist and take everything from him. The light, the dark, anything him. Finally, his muscles grow rigid, and he groans while he comes, burying himself in me one last time.

  Breathing hard into my neck, he stays inside me while we come down. Then he starts to skim his lips over my sensitive skin. I close my eyes, back to a raw nerve ending. His mouth brushes me, and his tenderness hurts. But I fall into it as he carefully kisses my cheeks and nose and eyelids. Even the tears that escape get chased by him, and when we go to sleep, I’m in his arms.

  And the tie is on the nightstand—where it stays.

  Nyla is cremated. She always thought it was poetic for our kind to return to dust. It’s not only where we came from, but it’s also a part of our blood.

  When I moved her to Colorado, I chose the farmhouse because of the view. The upstairs window faces the back of the property. It has a large yard that leads to a lake with a dock. At first, she’d sit in her wheelchair, staring at the water.

  “Just stand still and look, Nyx.” She still talked the first month and would catch my hand before I left after visiting her.

  I would face the window until she let me go, but I wasn’t looking. I was too busy trying to keep her alive. To keep her with me a little while longer.

  A few days after her death, I’m in her room. I’m standing at the window. I’m looking.

  And it fucking hurts.

  The floor creaks as someone crosses the threshold into the room. He steps behind me, and I close my eyes, wanting to feel him—the life in his veins.

  Chaz grips my waist through my plain black dress. “Cass and Hannah are by the shelterbelt to the east. Rosdan’s near the barn with the amulet.”

  Demon watch. I search the tree line until I see them. Hannah’s leaning back into Cass, his arms wrapped around her like he’ll never let her go. Then I find Rosdan pushing off the barn. His attention is set toward the front of the house.

  “And you?” I ask.

  Chaz doesn’t step back when I turn around, his hands sliding over me until I face him. He’s in a long-sleeved white dress shirt, wearing the black tie that, as of the other night, appears to have been retired. He moves closer, his arms encircling me.

  He rests his forehead on mine. “I’m right here.”

  His cool thumb skims over my cheek, and I try to lock all of this into memories in case it’s the last time. Because right now, everything feels like it might be a last time.

  Muffled slams from car doors out front force me back a step. His hand falls away, and I wipe my cheeks. “They’re here,” I say. “We should go.”

  I look over my shoulder out the window one more time. The table sits on the dock, white linen cloth on top and the urn surrounded by loose stemmed roses.

  I fucking hurt.

  When we get downstairs, Chaz hands me the wool jacket Hannah grabbed from my apartment earlier. I put it on as we go out the sliding doors that open to the lake. I’m still hooking the buttons when Chaz come
s to an abrupt stop on the back porch.

  “Are those all…” He trails off, scanning the yard.

  They come from both sides of the house. If Chaz knew what to look for, he’d see the division between the bloodlines. Clusters that keep distance from the others. Furtive glances.

  “It’s the only time you’ll see the remaining Descended in one place,” I say.

  “All of them?”

  I nod, stepping down onto the grass. “Twenty-seven of us now.”

  The others have created a scattered formation near the dock, and I stop in the middle. My lineage has stayed rather neutral within the remaining nine. We—or I have no one with ill will toward me or hard feelings over bullshit that happened centuries ago.

  I nod to an older man by himself, scanning the faces. “Amadeus is the last from Gadreel’s lineage. He’s the eldest, outlasting three children.”

  “Gad was a prick,” Chaz says, curling his arm around my waist.

  He tucks me against his side, holding me there like it’s where I belong, and I smile into the collar of my coat.

  Amadeus visually counts The Descended, hesitating on us for an instant before he moves on. But that’s the thing with a group this paranoid—everyone notices. The calculated glances begin, and Chaz brings me closer.

  “Step right up to see the infamous Watcher, folks,” he deadpans.

  Maybe I won’t leave here quite as neutral.

  Amadeus steps in front of Nyla’s urn, kicking us off with a not-so-brief listing of every person in my lineage, ending with the original. I would have skipped this entire part and just scattered her ashes in the lake, but they would have shown up eventually even if I hadn’t invited them. Tradition. And such a waste of airfare.

  After the excruciatingly boring list of monotone names, the end of the ritual lasts all of five minutes. Each lineage approaches the urn, and every member leaves something meaningful to them behind. A piece of their life for the one who lost theirs.

  The stares transition to gawking when I tug Chaz with me to the dock. I find an old, crumpled receipt in my coat pocket and set it under the edge of the urn. Chaz lifts a brow, side-eyeing me, and I shrug.