Sam's eyes darkened. “Too much. More than anyone should miss another person. It scared the crap out of me, Grace.”
I tugged the sheet up to my chin, shaken by the intensity of his stare. “This is strange—talking to you in somebody else’s bed.”
“You want me to leave?” Sam’s whisper was raw. Like magnetism, I was drawn closer to him.
“Only if you want to leave?” I bit my lip, and Sam shook his head violently, slipping his hand around my waist. My legs curled under my body until I was kneeling on the bed with one hand on Sam’s shoulder and the other buried in his hair. Sam slid his right hand against my neck and pressed his lips against my throat. His kisses trailed over my skin and along my jaw line until they reached my mouth. He paused for a moment, with his lips barely touching mine, a mere whisper of a kiss.
Energy pulsed between our bodies with such ferocity that it was almost painful. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I crushed my lips against his, drinking in his irresistible combination of power, rage, and vulnerability.
Sam mumbled something into my mouth, but it was lost in the intensity of the moment. He ran his fingers down my neck and over my shoulder, pushing the strap down onto my arm. I slipped my hand over his chest and traced the lines of his abdomen with my fingertips, following the curve around the side and onto his back.
In an instant, the energy transformed from blistering heat into the type of cold that could stop a heart and blacken skin. Sam vaulted over the cast iron bed end and yanked the towel over his shoulders again so that his back was hidden. His glare burned my flesh like a branding iron. “Don’t touch me.”
I dropped my eyes to my hands and shuffled back to the head of the bed, grabbing Jonah’s discarded journal as I scurried under the bedcovers. The skin above my lips prickled and I swallowed hard to try and dislodge the nauseating combination of hurt and embarrassment that was threatening to explode from my lips in a sob. My jaws ached from being clenched together.
I whipped the book open to the first page and began to read it again, forcing myself to block out everything else but the markings on the page. The words swam in front of my eyes, and I blinked back a frustrated torrent of self-loathing. I flung the book out of the bed and buried my face in the pillow.
It hit the wall with a clunk and slid across the smooth floorboards. I squeezed my eyes shut against the soft cotton of the pillowcase as the sound of Sam padding across the floor and retrieving the diary hit my ears. The mattress beside my feet dipped as he settled himself at the end of the bed.
“I never hated them until I met you. My scars.” I held my breath, afraid that even the slightest movement would seal Sam’s lips shut again. “Sometimes I used to make excuses to take my shirt off during training just so people could see how ugly I was. I wanted them to know that nothing they could do to me would ever be able to match what I had already survived. I didn’t give a damn when Elijah broke my nose. I was glad. I wanted the world to see what I was. But with you… I don’t want to be a monster.”
My arms ached to pull him down beside me but fear held them still. I propped myself up on my elbows, pressing my stomach into the soft mattress, but I kept my eyes fixed on my pillow and my back to Sam. “You’re not a monster, Sam. You were never a monster.”
His voiced was loaded with pain. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, Grace. You don’t know what I was before the Shadow Children took me.”
I twisted around to face him, unable to resist the pull of his energy for a second longer. His head was buried in his hands, and his hair hid his broken profile from my stare. “You were a kid, Sam. You were a baby. And they tortured you. They tried to break you because they knew you were special. They’re the monsters, not you. You’re a good person, you’re—”
“I murdered someone.” My mouth snapped shut, and I blinked. “More than one person.”
I edged my hand closer to his on the comforter. “Sam, if this is about Moscow—nobody blames you, things go wrong on missions. That doesn’t make you a murderer. If you’d just tell me what happened—”
Sam’s face contorted. “Will you just stop nagging me about Moscow? All you’ve wanted to talk about for weeks is Moscow. You know nothing about it, Grace. It’s none of your god damn business. How could you possibly know whose fault it was? Even if you had been there, you hardly know the first thing about active duty. If you didn’t have a gift, you’d still be restricted to the cell headquarters like all the other novices.”
“Stop it!” I lashed out with my power and the wind whipped against the windows outside, rattling the glass in its frame. “Can you hear yourself? It kills me that you insist on tearing yourself to shreds, but I refuse to be used as another instrument for you to torture yourself with. You say we need to talk, but we never do, Sam. You just push me away. Maybe Hollywood has the right idea. Maybe we are over.”
My fist reached out and smashed the switch on the wall and the room fell into darkness. I turned onto my side and wrapped the comforter around me like a cocoon, covering myself from head to toe. I shoved the blanket against my face so that the sound of my tears would be swallowed by the layers of cotton and feathers.
After a moment, Sam slid off the bed and settled himself on the hard floor. When the gray morning light filtering through the blinds woke me, he had already gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Emily strode ahead of us down the wide corridor that led from the main entrance to the University building. Her footsteps echoed, bouncing from the marble floors up to the high vaulted ceiling. Megan was pressed against my left arm and Brandon had his fingers threaded around my right wrist. I didn’t even glance in Sam’s direction.
Emily’s dark-haired assistant followed closely behind her, with his eyes fixed on her muscular buttocks. Brandon wiggled his eyebrows, and I made a heaving sound under my breath. Brandon grinned. His face still glowed with the rush of yesterday’s win over the Angelic students, but the memory of our victory barely tempered the feeling of dread sitting at the base of my stomach.
Emily stopped abruptly at the end of the corridor and whirled around to face us. “This is the Angelic High Courtroom. It is where the High Council convene, it is where we hold trials of great significance,” she pursed her lips, “and it is a place which is deserving of due respect. Treat it as such. To be granted an audience with the High Council is a privilege, even for upstanding members of the Angelic community, so for people like you—I hope you appreciate it.”
She swung the door open and marched through it with her assistant at her heels. It slammed shut in my face before I could follow her through. Emmanuel exhaled and muttered to himself as he pushed the door open and held it so that the rest of us could pass through. Emmanuel’s face was drawn. Gabriel had told me over breakfast that Emmanuel and the Demons hadn’t returned from meeting with the High Guardian until the early hours of the morning. Emmanuel shook his head as he entered the High Courtroom. “I see, Emily’s manners have not improved since his student days.”
My mouth twitched at the sound of the Master’s dry tone, but my smile became a gape as I took in the sheer scale of the room we had entered. The main portion of the hall was set out in a manner that reminded me of the cathedrals I had visited with Eve as a child. There was seating arranged in pews, stretching as far as I could see, enough to seat several thousand people. At the top of the room, there was a raised platform with a long narrow table. There were nine chairs on the opposite side of the table, facing down into the Hall so the High Council members could look down at their public.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention. Directly in front of the platform, there was a glass casket. It lay at an angle so that its contents could be seen even from a distance. I dug my teeth into my bottom lip, wanting to examine is more closely and to shrink away at the same time.
Emily’s voice reached my ear from her seat on the platform. “Move closer, Shadow Children, I can see that you’re curious. Move cl
oser and see your ancestor.”
Despite myself, I followed her directions and found myself moving across the floor toward the glass case. It was a man with long dark hair and a beard. His light brown skin was smooth, but the creases of age were beginning to show around the corners of his closed eyes and above his strong eyebrows.
“What is this?” My whisper sounded like a shout in the cavernous hall. Emily leaned forward to answer, but the High Guardian silenced her with a flick of his wrist. Emily’s self-satisfied smirk soured into a sneer.
“That’s Matthew, he is the ninth member of the Elder Council. The Halfborn representative.” The High Guardian’s voice was level, but his eyes were sharp as he studied my reaction.
I clenched my teeth to suppress the urge to tuck my hand inside the safety of Sam’s. “The Elders. I thought they stayed in a sanctuary, some protected space, and only two of them could come out once.”
The High Guardian’s gaze flickered from my face to Emmanuel’s, and back again. “This is true, for the other eight Guardians. It’s a necessary precaution to safeguard the Veil. After the Spirit War had been ended through the Great Sacrifice, it was deemed wise for the single remaining Halfborn to remain under the constant watch of the Angelic Council. For the safety of the Veil. One Elder alone would not have the power to destroy the Veil, but the Halfborn Elder could rupture its integrity if he chose to take revenge on the world for sacrificing his people. Any risk to the Veil cannot be tolerated. It would leave us all vulnerable.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. The Halflings didn’t draw the Spirit Demons intentionally, why would you punish him? You’ve kept him a box for two thousand years. It’s barbaric.” I reached my fingers out toward the glass case, but Niamh slapped my hands down against my side.
“He isn’t suffering. The great sleep doesn’t cause him pain. Regardless of your concerns, now is not the time to discuss these matters.” I opened my mouth to argue that it was an injustice to steal a person’s life and imprison them in a glass box for millennia. They had turned this man into an exhibit—a glass coated cautionary tale. Niamh’s glare froze the words on my lips, and I dropped my glare to the floor.
She raised her chin and spoke directly to the Council. “High Guardian Adam, members of the High Council, assistants—we offer our gratitude for this unprecedented meeting of minds.”
The side of Emily’s mouth curled up, spoiling the sweetness of her pretty cupids bow lips. “Meeting of minds is a bit of a stretch, Ambassador.”
Niamh stared straight ahead as if Emily hadn’t spoken. “High Guardian, I wish to request permission to share the information I have gathered with the Council. Due to the Council’s consistent unwillingness to accept the warnings I have offered over the past decades, I feel it would be most beneficial if I were to project the information directly into the minds of those present, with your grace.”
The High Guardian pressed his fingers against his temple and made eye contact with an elderly gentleman sitting at the far end of the table. The man gave a nod. A strand of silver hair fell forward onto his lined forehead. The High Guardian clasped his hands together. “I grant you permission, Ambassador Niamh, to use your gift to share knowledge with us.”
Emily and a blond middle-aged man began to protest, but the High Guardian silenced them with his outstretched palm. “Those who do not wish to partake are free to leave, but know that if you do, you forfeit your right to vote on any matters arising from the information offered.”
Emily leaned forward across the table and ran her glare over each of the Council members. “That it, then? We’ve become pirates. Take me to your Captain, I demand a parlay.”
“I remember a time when one of your ancestors was indeed brought before the High Council for abusing his Angelic gifts and robbing Human merchants on the high seas, Emily of Maidengate. I have no great desire to connect my mind with yours, so if you are leaving us…” Niamh swept her arm in the direction of the door. Emily slunk back into her chair with her arms crossed and her lips pinched tightly together. Niamh’s lips curved upward ever so slightly. “Then we’ll begin.”
Niamh opened her mouth and began to sing. I twisted my head to try to catch Sam’s attention, but in that instant, the world around me vanished and was replaced by a vacuum. A swirling place of aching sadness. The room and everyone in it had disappeared, only Niamh’s haunting melody remained. I followed it, powerless to resist its pull.
The images began to appear in a flash on either side of me, and slowly they transformed from black-and-white stills into snippets of life; vivid and full-bodied. I caught a glimpse of Lizzie in a long flowing dress, her eyes clear and unburdened, a small baby in her arms, and a young man by her side. I tried to hold onto the image and focus on the words her lips were forming, but it was gone too quickly, like a moment of life seen through the window of a moving train. We rushed on, barreling past a girl squealing with delight as she clutched an open letter under the proud eyes of a gray-haired couple. The girl looked so light and radiant with happiness that it was only when the image had faded I realized the girl had been Niamh.
A blast of cold hit me like a brick wall. I tried to back away, but I couldn’t escape the cloying tendrils of dread as the Spirit Demons surrounded me. Visions of war overpowered me as I watched battle scenes merge with throngs of people, moving slowly as if their bodies were no longer their own, mothers still clutching infants to their breasts as they marched forward to their death. Sacrificed to the Veil. I tried to tear myself away from the relentless flow of images, but I was as powerless as the people I watched.
Then they were gone. But the scenes of war and heartbreak continued to thunder over me. Different wars, different eras—the passage of time measured in blood and tears. Swords clashed, pyres blazed, guillotines sliced through flesh. I caught a glimpse of Lizzie and Niamh working together to pull a young boy from the rubble of a collapsed building with St Paul’s Cathedral in the skyline above their heads.
The pictures began to slow and the world I recognized from my own time began to emerge, until we stood on the blood-soaked soil my feet had touched only the day before. The bodies had been pulled from the ground and the soil brushed from their faces. Guardians lay entangled amongst the corpses of their prisoners. The image closed in on a man. His fair hair was cropped close, and his pale skin was striking in contrast to the black of his Guardian’s uniform. Even in death, he was beautiful.
I felt myself leaning closer, drawn in against my will, when his eyes flew open. I struggled to escape from the terror in their blue depths, but there was no release. His mouth gaped open, and together we screamed.
Chapter Seventeen
The room erupted into chaos. Emily shot out of her chair and fled from the room, scattering furniture in her wake as bursts of energy escaped from her fingertips. The High Guardian barked an order at two of the other Council members. They bolted from the platform and out of the hall after Emily.
Emmanuel stared at Niamh reproachfully. “Her brother, Niamh—was that absolutely necessary?”
“She doesn’t choose what people see. People draw themselves into her mind, she can’t help where they go. Emily brought us to him.” Lizzie’s voice was tired as she spoke in unexpected defense of her sister. I wondered had she chosen the wrong path through Niamh’s thoughts herself in the past.
Emmanuel opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut short by Lizzie exhaling the contents of her lungs in a low wheeze and collapsing to the floor. Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth hung open. My fingers pulled at the golden band on my wrist, and I ached for Eve’s healing presence.
Aza bent down and placed her hand gently on Lizzie’s forehead. A dark shadow passed over her face as she looked up at Niamh. Sam and Megan pulled closer to Lucas and me. Brandon’s eyes moved rapidly from one point of the courtroom to another as he surveyed the scene before us.
Gabriel pressed his hand against Niamh’s waist as
he attempted to move past her to get closer to Lizzie, but she held her position fast. “Aza and I will see to Lizzie. Seers are more sensitive to projection—my memories may have sparked a vision, but I don’t believe it would be wise for you to remain with us. You and Emmanuel should see the children back to the location we discussed earlier. Now.”
Lizzie ceased convulsing and inhaled with a shuddering gasp. Niamh widened her eyes pointedly at Aza, who grabbed Gabriel and Emmanuel by the arms and shoved them in the direction of the exit. Gabriel glanced from Lizzie’s prone body to Aza’s fierce, brown eyes. She touched his wrist. “Friend, please. We will keep Lizzie safe, but you must get the children out of here.”
Gabriel’s posture transformed as if Aza’s electricity was flowing through his veins and remaking him in the shape of a warrior. He moved with such speed and ease that we were standing at the door before I had time to process my distress at leaving Lizzie behind. I dug my fingers into Gabriel’s hand as he tried to pull me over the threshold. “Wait! We should bring Lizzie. We shouldn’t leave her.”
Megan pleaded with me. “She’s with her sister. She’s safe. We need to go, Grace. Can’t you see the way those Council members were looking at us? We need to get out of here.”
I cast a final glance at Lizzie’s body as the door slid closed, just in time to see her jolt upright and scream out a warning. Sam’s fingers gripped my upper arm like a vice. Emmanuel’s eyes widened, reflecting the horror written on Gabriel’s face. Lucas grabbed his Spirit Blade with one hand and Brandon’s arm with the other. Nobody moved. Megan twisted her head to face Emmanuel, but before she could open her mouth to speak, he responded with a raw whisper. “Run.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence, followed by the sound of footsteps moving closer, gathering speed and momentum as they echoed down the long corridor. A flame ignited behind Emmanuel’s amber eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer whisper. “Children, run!”
The Demon-Born Trilogy: (Complete Paranormal Fantasy Series) Page 39
