“Daghony,” she shouted but her voice was lost in the growing rumble of a jet engine. Somewhere in the clouds, an airplane approached. By the whine of the engines, a big one.
She had to get out of the clouds, except up and down had no meaning in a whiteout. Indecision caused her precious seconds. Now, the roar of the engines and the smell of jet fuel surrounded her. Panicked, she dove for the ground—what she hoped was the ground, and there it was. Deer caught in the headlights applied even when an Airbus was bearing down on you. The windshield was huge, pilot and co-pilot clearly visible with their mouths open and horror on their faces.
At the last second before impact, something else slammed into her. She tumbled about, in a free fall until jerked to a halt.
“Idiot! Are you trying to kill us both?” Daghony had her by the shoulders, shaking her worse than any ragged doll had been treated.
Her stomach rolled, heaved. “You left me!” She punched him until he stopped shaking her, then gasped. Daghony’s flesh was burning. Burning! Peeling and burning. His wings. Beautiful gray feathers were on fire!
His hands slid off her shoulders and he fell away from her, limp. Unconscious and still burning. And now falling.
She tucked her wings and dove after him. She caught up with his tumbling body, latched onto his shoulders, and wrapped her legs around his waist. Then she opened her wings. The muscles in her back and shoulders howled. She managed to slow them down, but it didn’t stop him from burning or falling like a rock.
Which…was exactly what he needed. To fall, she realized, and folded her wings, throwing them into a nosedive. They cleared the clouds and sunlight hit them full force. All Daghony’s feathers burst into flames. She wrapped her body around his, trying to shield him as much as possible. Amaya was much smaller, shielding him didn’t work. Too much of him was still exposed.
“Hold on!” She had to get him to the shadows. Luckily, they were falling over the city. With the trajectory of the sun low on the horizon, the buildings cast plenty of shadows. She just had to get them there.
She angled toward the tallest building, aware of the charred UnHallowed in her arms, in a parody of a controlled dive. Aware of his immortality—his existence—relied on her to get him to safety.
The building rushed toward them. She aimed for the largest one. It grew from a Lego block to the perfect size, with a perfect shadow on the right side. She’d release him and let gravity take him the rest of the way.
What if she missed? Plus, if she released him, the sun would roast the parts of him she’d managed to protect. Add to that, she had to drop him in the shadows and not get sucked in herself. All of this on her first flight. Fucking awesome!
She snapped open her wings and groaned at the agony. Slowing was the mission, but she had to pivot, slightly, to the right of the mark. Six foot six of dead weight wasn’t helping the situation. A current of air slammed into them, spinning her about, and wrenched her wings at an unnatural angle. Daghony slipped, she had to dig her fingers into his charred flesh to anchor him.
A bald eagle glided past her. It rode the current with effortless ease. She wrapped her legs around Daghony again, tucked him close to her body, and mimicked the bird. It worked. Now, she was in a controlled glide, which helped her, but not Daghony. A part of his wings snapped off and turned to ashes in front of her eyes.
To hell with this! She tucked her wings and headed for the shadows. The distance between her and the building decreased with an alarming speed. She wouldn’t have to worry about falling into the shadows because she’d be a blotch on the side of the building.
At the last second, she released him and snapped opened her wings to stop her descent. Caught by another current, she slammed into the glass, and heard a scream. A woman stared at her from the safety of her tastefully designed white and gray bedroom.
“Sorry!” Amaya shoved off the glass in time to see the shadows swallow him. “Please let him be okay.” It was all she could, do yet it didn’t seem enough. She didn’t know the UnHallowed. Out of the lot, he wasn’t half bad, and could be an ally.
And he’d almost died trying to get her home.
Home. Yeah, about that. She had no idea where home was because she had no idea where her starting point, the cave, was. She took to the skies, away from the tall buildings. A helicopter buzzed the air approximately a mile away. The call letters of a news station were on the tail. Still didn’t know where she was. That had to be a traffic helicopter documenting the morning rush hour. If she could tell what highway or interstate she was over, she could find her way back to Danville.
She flapped her way closer and was right. The chopper hovered over the interstate, but which one? Moving too close posed too much danger. She’d already been spotted twice now. Once with the airplane and once crashing into the side of the building. She couldn’t risk it again. How did angels stay undetected? The least Michael could’ve done was give her a manual.
A blurry green and white road sign caught her attention. Damn it, she had no choice, she had to get closer. All of a sudden, her vision refocused and zeroed in on the sign. I-75 came into crisp view. She could even count the bird droppings on the sign.
What other freaky new skill do I have?
No time to ponder that question when with each flap, she tired. I-75 cut through Detroit. From there, she’d have no problem finding home. In smaller print, below I-75 was the mileage to various northern cities. Her eyes bulged at 432 miles to Detroit. She almost cried, but didn’t want to waste the energy. Right now, taking a stroll through the shadows didn’t seem so bad. She sucked up her despair and headed for a higher altitude. Hopefully, she could fly faster than the average car.
34
With each flap of her wings, she dipped dangerously close to the ground, but the farm was right there. A stone's throw at the most. With her new and improved eyesight, she counted the dandelions sprouting near the porch steps, even though she was a mile away.
Just a bit more. Keep going. Exhaustion gripped her south of Detroit. Determination, and the terror of collapsing and ending up in a government lab, kept her afloat. In the last hour, she’d flown over a patchwork of farms. She had no idea if anyone had seen her. How to explain the UnHallowed and whatever she’d become? She wasn’t an angel and she wasn’t human. What if someone saw her and she was on some government radar being tracked right now? Leading them home…
Too tired to give a damn, she pressed on.
And got a mouthful of dirt and grass.
She’d crashed and hadn’t even realized it. She climbed to her hands and knees. Head lolling, she focused on the house and cursed. Why is it further away? It’s as if she flew backward instead of forward.
All she needed was one last burst of energy and she’d be home. It wasn’t mission impossible.
“Just because you slap wings on a human, doesn’t make them an angel,” she grumbled. Tell that to every spasming muscle on her back. Angels could go millennia without rest, Braile had bragged.
What-the hell-ever.
She shoved to her feet and agony rippled from her shoulders to her hips, though centered on the joints attaching her wings. “Don’t think about it,” she gritted through her clenched teeth.
It worked. The mind over matter bullshit actually worked. Her back was numb. Now to get her ass home.
A breeze ruffled her feathers and swayed the tall grass around her. She opened her wings, letting it catch, and lift her. Another hundred yards and she’d be on her porch, in her living room, home. The breeze became a hard gust. Caught in an updraft, it propelled her into the air and across the distance at breakneck speed. She had no control when it slammed her through her bedroom window. Something snapped when she hit the hardwood. She rolled, snapping more body parts she didn’t have half a day ago. Blinding pain lashed every cell and darkness dimmed her vision, once, twice, as white, red-tipped feathers floated in the air. She had to hang on. Had to…footsteps thudded on the staircase and halted outside of the sun-d
renched bedroom.
She focused on the black combat boots and her name. The voice calling her from a thousand miles away… “Bane?”
Amaya pushed away from the pillows and spun around, her gaze bounced around the room until she realized this was her bedroom. She was in her bed, and had been laying on her stomach. She remembered hitting the floor, snapping her wings. Passing out. Yet she didn’t feel broken and the pain was a manageable ache. Someone had risked a third degree burn to scoop her off the floor and put her in bed.
She had an idea who, even though she’d only seen a pair of boots. She slid off the bed and stretched. Her shoulders ached, but nothing close to the pain that knocked her out. She flexed her wings and knew the position of each feather as she knew every inch of her own skin, except the sensation was completely alien. Unique. Through her feathers, she could tell the room temperature—seventy-nine degrees—and knew the barometric pressure was dropping. Rain scented the air.
Good thing her window had been repaired. She opened the window and climbed out onto the roof. The world looked safe enough with her ass planted on the shingles. The stars twinkled, a hot breeze kissed her skin and ruffled her feathers, the grass moved, and insects chirped away. Energy swirled all around her. Passed through her. All of it connected her to nature—air, water, earth, fire—connected her to the planet and its place in the universe. She focused and the rings of Saturn came into view in exquisite detail. The upgrade was pretty sweet. Too bad the end of the world got in the way of enjoying it.
A bolt of lightning illuminated a storm cloud in the distance. Ten minutes and the farm would be drenched. She arrived in the afternoon and didn’t need a clock to know it was close to midnight. Yet, she had the distinct impression it wasn’t the same day.
“How long was I out?” she muttered as her stomach and bladder simultaneously cramped. Seemed her basic anatomy was still very human. She returned to her bedroom and halted at the sword laying on the bed next to the spot she’d just left.
Was it there when she woke? She didn’t think so. And she definitely hadn’t carried it with her when she flew. The last time she remembered having the weapon was in the cave, after Michael left her.
Shiny didn’t come close to describing the surface or the razor edge. She had the distinct impression she could separate a head from its shoulders without the slightest effort, or peel the skin off a grape with surgical precision. All she needed was the skill to do both. She picked it up, couldn’t resist the urge. A surge of power raced up her arm, leaving her lightheaded. When the sensation passed, she focused on the incredible blade in her hand. The ivory was the purest white she’d ever seen, with markings etched into the surface, protected by the intricate empyreal weave comprising the hilt and the cross-guard’s sharp tipped wings. The blade was half her height, shorter than she remembered when Braile wielded it. Maybe that was her perception since she was a child, but she doubted it. Though it appeared to weigh a ton, it was impossibly light and the hilt fit her palm like haute couture to a run way model.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror and couldn’t help staring at the hot mess. Her hair was a matted nest and dirt clung to every inch of her…and she had wings. She twisted around for her first true look at them.
They were stunning, smaller versions of Braile’s bi-level wings. Sprouting from between her shoulders and mid back, they had glorious, pristine white feathers tipped in blood red around the edges. Once, she begged for Braile to save one of his feathers for her, one that fell out. He explained that angels didn’t lose their feathers. Then he plucked one and gave it to her. She still had it pressed between the pages of the children’s Bible her grandmother had given her.
She used the facilities and decided to risk a shower. Luckily, her shower was deep and apparently, her wings were waterproof. Good to know. Hot water and soap. The simple things are the best. The shower made her feel more human. She had to skip the bra. To go without one when she’d worn a bra since puberty was…weird. Uncomfortable. C-cups didn’t go braless.
Tell that to her new appendages.
A halter top was the only thing she could wear. Not a problem in June. Her limited attire would be an issue come September when the temperatures dipped. The winters were brutal in this part of the country. A halter top would equal death by hypothermia.
She headed for the stairs, dragging her wings across the hardwood. This wasn’t going to work. How did Michael and the UnHallowed do it? Dag, Kush, Riél, Michael, she thought of how they moved with their wings. Their postures were all the same, erect, with their shoulders slightly rounded. Their wings never dragged. She mimicked the pose and it worked, but it took effort to hold that unnatural position, too much effort.
She sighed. Something else to work on.
She headed for the kitchen and the refrigerator. The fresh cut up fruit had spoiled, along with the milk, but the pastrami and Swiss cheese were still good, good enough to ignore the stale Kaiser rolls. She made a sandwich, added mayo and mustard, and gobbled it down. Plus, there were oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies, and other strange items she didn’t eat, on the top shelf, and bags of chips on the kitchen counter.
Voices drifted from the open basement door. She wolfed down the rest of her sandwich, plus two oatmeal cookies—no one had thought to buy milk to go with the cookies—and headed downstairs.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Get a group of males together and invariably one of them would buy a humongous flat screen and an Xbox. The UnHallowed didn’t prove different. Included with the seventy-five-inch flat screen and gaming system was a new leather sectional. All the creature comforts.
Hand on hip, daggers in her eyes, Amaya stood in front of the flat screen. Empty beer and booze bottles, competing with a mound of empty pizza boxes littered the room. So much for them not eating. “Is this what you’re all going to do all day?” A beer can smacked her shoulder.
“Get out of the way!” Zed shouted.
“I swear if I lose because you—” Chay threw a pillow at her.
She swatted it away. “You won’t do a damn thing,” she said to Chay, then pointed at Kush. “On the other hand, you would do something because you can’t help yourself.” She shifted her gaze to Zed. “I place you in that same poor impulse control category as Kush.” Lastly, she waved a finger at Rimmon. “And you, I haven’t quite figured out yet.”
“Oh, Rimmon’s easy. He’s a complete asshole.” Scarla marched down the stairs. She ignored Amaya in favor of leaning over the back of the sofa and kissing Chay on the cheek. Kush got a slap to the side of his head. The other two got the cold shoulder as she sauntered over and planted herself in front of Amaya. “I didn’t believe the upgrade, but shit. I don’t know whether to be jealous or sympathetic.”
At least she was honest.
Scarla glanced down. “You know their dragging, right? Collecting dust bunnies.”
“Yes, damn it. I know!”
Scarla held up her hands and backed away as the UnHallowed laughed. “Pay them no mind. They have no life, so they’ll live through those that do. They’re pathetic and most are virgins. Let’s get a drink and I’ll tell you which ones.”
35
Amaya followed Scarla to the sideboard in the living room. Scarla opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of rum and two glasses. She cracked the seal and poured as if she owned the bottle, glass, and the whole damned house. Well, since she knew the location of everything, maybe she did.
“Have you moved in and no one decided to tell me?” Amaya took the offered glass.
Scarla snorted. “No. And I don’t plan to. I’m glad to have my establishment back. Now, I can open all the windows and air the testosterone out of the place.” She shrugged.
Establishment? Did she mean the bar or some other place? Either way, Amaya didn’t believe it. Scarla’s nonchalant shrug failed to convince. She loved those idiots. That’s why she made it her business to find her way to the farm house and in some small, obvious
way, make it her own. Mark her territory. Amaya got it and didn’t have time for the cat fight.
Amaya drained her glass and refilled it.
“Just so you know, I brought a trunk full of groceries yesterday while you were still out of it. They don’t need to eat, but Chay loves queso and chips, Kush has a thing for cold french fries, and Daghony has a cookie fetish. Oatmeal raisin is his favorite.” She made a face. “I tried to get him hooked on Oreos, he hated them. Whatevs.”
And that’s exactly what she stocked the refrigerator with, everything for her pals and nothing else. Who eats cookies without milk? Daghony apparently. Scarla cleared her throat and her gaze skipped around the room as she blinked rapidly. “He almost died, you know,” she rasped.
Amaya’s throat tightened. “I know.”
“He shouldn’t have been out that close to dawn, flying!” she hissed. “If he’d died…” She dashed away the tears leaking out of her eyes as if she were angry they’d dare appear.
There wasn’t anything Amaya could say. She felt guilty enough watching Scarla’s tears.
Scarla cleared her throat and planted a fist on her hip. “Sooo, the Cruor is gone, missing, because of you, and now you’re going to rescue it. Interesting.”
Hold up a damn minute! “I didn’t lose anyth—”
Scarla got up in Amaya’s face. “Yeah. You did. Because Bane chose to save your sorry ass and not do what he’d wanted to for the last thousand years. Be the hero and save the world.” Her voice had lowered to a hostile whisper.
A memory tickled Amaya’s brain. She shut it down and ignored the cold wedge settling in her chest. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in Braile’s memories when the present demanded her attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course, you don’t. You see, you’ve just arrived on the scene, while I’ve been starring in this soap opera for the last twenty-two years,” Scarla growled out.
Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Page 20
