by Kristie Cook
Gliding through town silently, my feet make almost no noise as they hit the ground lightly, propelling me nearly effortlessly forward at a dizzying speed. Fear spreads through me, making this run less than enjoyable. I constantly look over my shoulder to see if I am being pursued. I run up the long drive of Reed’s house, only slowing to open the front door and enter at a normal rate of speed because I am conscious of the fact that Andre might be around. I think briefly of knocking, but I am too freaked out to rest on manners, so I barge right into the foyer.
“Reed,” I call loudly, even though I know full well that if he is in the house, he will hear me, even if I whisper his name. I recognize right away that he is not home, since there are no butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Damn, where are you? I wonder.
A soft rustle of fabric coming from the library down the hall, alerts me to the fact that someone is here and has gotten up from a chair in the library. Walking forward and hoping to speak to Andre, I only make it to the front of the staircase when I stop dead in my tracks, because it isn’t Andre that I heard in the library. It isn’t even human but angelic.
I scan the perfect figure of the angel in front of me. He looks to be around twenty. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, he manages to make the simple outfit sexy. He is tall and well proportioned with thick brown hair and ice-blue eyes, the kind of eyes that are seen once and never forgotten because they are impossibly blue. The scowl registering on his face as he scans me, however, detracts somewhat from the beauty of the whole package, leaving me with the impression that I would prefer ugliness, any day of the week, to this reaction from perfection. When he speaks to me in his angelic language, he uses a commanding tone. Of course, I don’t understand a word of it, but it is lovely, whatever it is he is saying.
Hesitating, I see that he is waiting for a response from me, so I lift my shoulders in a shrug. Slowly, his dark-brown eyebrows pull dangerously close together over his ice-blue eyes. Then, my fear doubles as a low, primal growl accompanies his severe frown.
I quickly try to speak past the tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry,” my voice shakes, “I don’t understand your language. You’ll have to speak English.”
His eyes widen as one eyebrow arches a little. It takes a moment before his brows draw together again. Realizing my situation is bleak, I glance over to the front door, gauging the distance to it. It is too far away for me to escape. Looking over my shoulder, I notice the staircase leading up to the second floor. Without premeditation, I start inching my way backward toward it, deciding to try to flee upstairs. I have to at least attempt to escape, even though I’ve already surmised that it is nearly pointless to do so. The angel in front of me is a lethal killer; I probably don’t stand a chance. Please, God … I need a distraction.
The phone in the angel’s pocket begins ringing; I flinch at the sound of it. Never taking his eyes from me, he pulls his phone from his pocket, answering it. He doesn’t speak to the caller, but instead, he’s listening to whatever the caller tells him.
My heart aches in my chest as I continue to inch my way back toward the staircase. Putting my foot on the first step and my other foot on the second step, I climb backwards up the stairs, still facing the predator in front of me. The angel’s blue eyes follow me, but he hasn’t made a move toward me yet, even though he is assessing everything that I do.
I am startled by the angel’s soft, deadly tone as he says, “No, I think I will stay. Something very interesting just walked in.”
The caller must be saying something else because the angel just listens again. I put my foot on the third step and the other one on the fourth step, moving up the stairs while he tracks me with an intensity that makes me sweat. Feeling a twitch move across my back, I ignore the foreign pain, continuing to focus on the threat in front of me.
The angel’s frown becomes sinister. “Why have you not taken care of this yourself?” he asks in disgust.
As I put my foot on the fifth step and the other one on the sixth step, the angel growls at me; it is a deeply terrifying sound, making my heart slam against the walls of my chest. I freeze where I stand on the sixth step.
The angel’s voice booms loudly as he snarls into his phone, “You are willing to take that chance?”
Stiffening at his fury, my legs shake beneath me. The angel looks away from me then, toward the front door, so I put my foot on the seventh step and the other one on the eighth step. He glances back in agitation, glaring at me. I freeze on the steps, pretending that I haven’t moved while he wasn’t looking.
His jaw becomes rigid. “It has redemption—not if I send it back to the abyss …” the angel says in a scathing tone.
I put my foot on the ninth step, and the other one on the tenth step, before feeling a tearing pain across my back. It makes me take a deep, gasping breath in. Trying to ignore the pain, because it isn’t as significant a threat as the angry angel only steps below me, I slide my hand up the railing, still trying to edge my way upward.
“Maybe you have lost your perspective in this matter,” the angel injects into the phone again, taking his eyes from me to gaze around in exasperation.
I put my foot on the eleventh step, and I nearly have my other foot on the twelfth step when a slicing pain stops me. In my next breath, all the air in my lungs is forced out of my body. Looking down at the angel below me, I try desperately to gauge his reaction to what is happening to me. He is completely still, watching me with his cold blue eyes. Another punch rocks me, and as I gasp again for breath, something forces its way through my back with the sound like a parachute releasing into the wind. A rending, tearing sounds at precisely the same time as my shirt and bra fall away from my body, leaving me half naked on the stairway.
Bringing my hands up to my breasts, I cover them from the stranger in front of me. Shock tears through the confusion in my mind as I realize I’ve just sprouted wings. Chancing another glance at the angel below me in the foyer, he regards me with something like surprise in his beautiful eyes. Seeing that this is my best chance for escape, I take it.
Turning swiftly, I sprint up the remaining stairs with my wings stretching out and moving of their own volition. When I make it to Reed’s room, I burst through the door, slamming it closed behind me and locking it securely in place. Backing away from the door, I just manage to clear it before the angel on the other side kicks it in. Freaking strong angel!
I continue to back up with my arms crossed in front of my body. He follows me into the room; his sharp, predatory eyes stalk me, and for a moment I feel as if I can see myself reflected in their icy depths. I can’t sense even the smallest hint of mercy or compassion in him for me. He’s going to kill me in Reed’s room. What if Reed walks in before he’s done? Will he kill Reed, too? I wonder, and then I still.
“Was that Reed on the phone?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, but he stops his pursuit of me for the moment. “He’s coming here, isn’t he?” I ask, panicking again. My question is met with silence. “You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” I state rhetorically, knowing that it is his intention. “You’ll need to hurry. I don’t want Reed to walk in while you’re doing it. He will try to defend me, and I don’t want him hurt. So, just do it fast … please,” I say, straightening up out of the defensive crouch I had adopted at some point in my retreat.
I can’t seem to drop my arms to my sides, so I hug them over my breasts and close my eyes. My breath comes in short gasps, and my heart drums like the wings of a hummingbird. I hear the clocks in the house all ticking in synchronization. How Reed managed that, I don’t know, but they keep perfect time together. I also smell Reed’s scent in the room, and it is a little comforting to me.
As the moments pass, I grow nervous about the time. The clocks keep ticking. Time is running out. Reed will be back at any time. Fear chokes me while beads of sweat run down the sides of my face and I swipe them away shakily with the back of my hand.
“Why are you afraid? I was told you have redemptio
n,” the angel sneers from in front of me.
I moisten my lips in order to speak because my mouth has gone so dry. “Maybe it’s the human side of me that fears death,” I reply in a near whisper, not opening my eyes. “This life is all I can remember. It’s all I know—and I don’t know that I will be granted redemption. Reed seems to think so, but there is a chance that I’m evil … in which case, you’d be sending me to Sheol. I hear it’s not very fun there, so I’m hoping that Reed is correct. But, whichever way, I guess I’m about to find out. If I see you in Paradise, then, no hard feelings—if I don’t, well then, good job. Either way, you have my forgiveness if you do this before Reed gets here.”
“You have a serpent’s tongue. Why would you forgive me?” he asks me, angry now … or frustrated.
I don’t hesitate when I answer him, “Because the worst thing I can imagine is that Reed would cease to be on any plane of existence. I can forgive anything short of his annihilation. Please, do this now, before he returns,” I beg him, feeling dizzy with anxiety. I sway on my feet as trembling continues to take hold of me.
“Did you just plead for me to kill you?” the angel asks in an incredulous tone. He is still so near that I can feel his breath on my hair.
I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “Umm … sort of, I guess so. I can do a better job, if you’d like.” I say, sinking to my knees, and resting my forehead against the carpet beneath me. “Please hurry, so you don’t have to hurt Reed,” I say softly.
“You are a Seraph, and yet you would bow to me?” he states with confusion in his tone.
Looking up at him from my position on the floor, my eyes widen when he sinks to his knees in front of me. “I’m sorry … I don’t know what a Seraph is,” I say, rising back up onto my knees and crossing my arms over my breasts again.
“You do not know what a Seraph is?” he asks me in shock. I shake my head, waiting for his reaction. “Seraphim are the highest order of Angels. They are God’s guardians.”
“How do you know I’m a Seraph?” I ask him haltingly, trying to ebb the trembling fear that shows no sign of lessening.
He reaches out, and I try not to pull away from him as he touches my wing; it flutters at the contact. “Your wings, they are fiery red,” he observes.
“They are?” I ask, because I haven’t actually seen them yet. I’ve been so focused on this predator, that I haven’t been able to evaluate them. Now, I glance back at them, seeing that they are, indeed, red, the deepest red. They are small too, reaching only to my waist, not the powerful wings that Reed possesses, I think in disappointment.
“Why are they so small?” I ask, and the disappointment is there in my tone.
The angel gives me a half smile, shocking me when I see it. “You have never seen your wings before tonight?” he asks me pointedly. I shake my head. “How old are you?” he asks curiously.
“I just turned eighteen.” I say shivering as my body is starting to sag from fatigue that fear has wrought upon it. A thought creeps into the back of my mind and takes root in my consciousness. Before I can stop myself, I ask the angel, “What order of angel is Lucifer?”
Scanning my face with his ice-blue eyes, he says, “Lucifer is Seraphim.”
My breath catches as tears immediately cloud my vision. A couple of tears escape as I inhale my breath, trying to hold back the burning sob in my throat. Feeling as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, I ruthlessly reign in my emotions and gain control again. Using the back of my fist, I wipe my tears away, and then I cross my arms in front of me once again. I nod to him, acknowledging what he has just told me.
“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to know anymore. Let’s just get on with this, okay?” I say, feeling conquered.
“Get on with what?” he asks.
“The smoting … or is it smiting? Whatever you call it,” I reply in exasperation. “Before Reed gets back, remember?” I ask, trying to hold back my raw emotion.
“You do not know if the Fallen are responsible for you being here?” he asks, ignoring my question.
I shake my head. “I never met my father. I didn’t know that he was an angel until recently,” I reply.
His expression turns thoughtful. “There are many Seraphim where we come from, too. It would make sense for God to choose one among them to create you,” he reasons.
“Are you trying to make me feel better?” I ask tiredly, giving him a ghost of a smile. My head is pounding. I sway again as tiny black spots swim in my vision. “What order of angel is Reed?” I ask, catching myself and striving to maintain my balance by sitting back on my heels.
“He is like me, a Power angel. We are created to prevent the Fallen from taking over the world and to keep the universe in balance,” he replies with authority.
My lips turn downward. “And I seem to have been created to do the opposite. I throw everything off balance with my mere presence,” I state flatly.
One of his eyebrows arches cunningly. “Perhaps … or perhaps you are the perfect balance … human and angel,” he says as if he is considering all of the angles to our puzzle carefully.
Tires screech on the pavement just beyond Reed’s driveway, and my eyes snap open wider. Time is up for the bargain I would’ve made with this angel. The gravel in the drive crunches and sprays as the wheels of a car toss the pebbles recklessly behind it. Applying the brakes at what sounds like the last possible second, there is hardly a breath between that sound and the sound of Reed’s voice calling from the foyer.
“Evie!” he says, but I can’t answer him. I don’t want him to come up here. I want him to be safe. My eyes fall pleadingly on the angel in front of me, because only he has the power to make that a reality.
“She is here,” the angel replies, sitting back and continuing to watch me. In seconds, Reed is in the room and has me cradled in his arms. He presses my head into his chest, ignoring the fact that there is someone else in the room with us. “I did not harm her,” the angel speaks to Reed in a defensive tone.
Reed presses his forehead to mine while he ascertains that I’m intact, and then he lets me go, whirling on the other angel in the room. Reed’s shirt tears instantly and falls away from his body, while his gray wings arc out in menace. He flies at the other angel, driving him through the door and out into the hallway.
“Reed, don’t, he didn’t hurt me! Please stop!” I plead when they come crashing back through the doorway, grappling with each other.
The other angel sprouts his own light brown wings, which topples the furniture and knocks artwork from the shelves. He and Reed pitch back and forth near the center of the room like gladiators in an arena. Reed lands several brutal punches before the other angel throws him back. Reed continues stalking him, looking for another angle to penetrate his defenses.
“Zephyr,” Reed scowls blackly, “she is part human. Can’t you hear her heart racing? I’m surprised she hasn’t fainted from fear,” he grits out. “What did you do to my door?” he asks when he notices that it hangs at a severe angle from its hinges.
Zephyr maintains a defensive stance, shrugging his shoulders toward the door as he says, “She locked the door. I should have had her before she got here, but she is quick. I was surprised she could outrun me.” He smiles at me appreciatively, and I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him.
“I thought you were going to kill me,” I say quietly, gaining their attention. I try to keep it, hoping to distract them from killing each other.
“I intended to kill you,” he says, and although his voice was very silky, I know he means every word he says. “The way Reed spoke of you on the phone, and then looking at you, I thought you had persuaded him to help you.”
“Why didn’t you kill me then?” I ask him out of morbid curiosity, seeing Reed grow more and more tense.
“You convinced me not to,” Zephyr replies, glancing at Reed to see that he is no longer out for blood, but listening to our exch
ange.
“How did I do that?” I ask tiredly, not understanding how I had convinced a hostile angel not to do what he is essentially programmed to do.
“You didn’t cower or bargain with me for your life, but offered your life to me to save Reed.” Reed growls in reaction to Zephyr’s words. “But, the fact that you granted me forgiveness for what I was about to do to you, that is what really tied my hands. You have such courage …”
“Zephyr, if you ever do anything like that to Evie again, you will pray for death,” Reed says in a quiet tone.
Zephyr grunts. They are eyeing each other speculatively as if to size up the competition, should that day come. Zephyr’s response shocks me more than anything else that I’ve been through tonight when he says in a serious tone, “I will kill anything that attempts to harm her.”
As I force my legs to move toward the attached bathroom, they feel heavy and lethargic. When I reach it, I close the door behind me, leaning against the wood feebly. I want to lock it, but I’ve been shown, first hand, that it won’t matter, should one of them really want to get in. Fighting the urge to fall apart right here, my throat burns with unshed tears, but I know that if I start crying, I won’t stop, so I try to hold them off. I’ll just stay in the bathroom until Zephyr goes away, I think.
After using the facilities, I go to the sink to wash my hands. Shock is the forefront emotion to what I see reflected in the mirror. I have indeed sprouted wings; there is no getting around it, and they aren’t just red, they are crimson. They are small, petite almost, by the standards I have seen for wings; those being Reed’s powerful charcoal-gray wings and Zephyr’s light brown wings. My wings only reach to my waist, while Reed’s are longer, almost the entire length of his body.
Can I move them voluntarily? I concentrate on lifting them, but I have little success. Maybe it’s because you’re tired, I think, seeing myself in the mirror. I look wilted. How am I going to put them away if I can’t seem to move them? I can’t even get dressed! Feeling disgust, I turn away from the mirror and see Reed standing in the open doorway. I gasp, bringing my hands up to cover my breasts again.
