Angel of Distrust

by Tabitha Barret

  He nodded at her comment and stared off at something in the distance. When he didn’t refute her comment, she carefully bent down toward the water. Before she bent down too far, she shifted her body and quickly popped the frog up with the toe of her boot and flicked it at Haydn. Stupidly, he caught the small projectile aimed at his head without thinking.

  She smiled when she saw his look of terror. At least he could still experience fear, which she would exploit if needed.

  Haydn dropped the frog and jumped away from it. He accidentally tumbled off the rock and landed awkwardly on his side in a leafy shrub covered in red berries. His body shook as his muscles tensed up one by one. He bellowed in pain and frustration, swearing to himself for being stupid enough to grab the frog.

  Grateful for the frog’s assistance, she named him Fred. This particular dart frog was similar to the inhabitants of the Realm of Poison and had a serious kick to it. Hades had some complicated name for the bugger, but she had nicknamed it “hopping death” because its venom was so strong.

  Knowing that Haydn was in no position to hurt her, she carefully dropped to her knees, avoiding the sharp rocks around the stream, and stuck her face into the water. She slurped down the water and swallowed as much as her stomach could hold. When she’d had her fill, she glanced up at Haydn, whose muscles were locking painfully into place. He vacillated between foul swears and grunting shrieks. When her thirst was moderately satisfied, she rocked her body and got her legs under her so that she could stand.

  She trudged through the stream and stood over her angel. “Release me!” she growled. She turned her back to him and crouched down so that he could reach her bonds. All he had to do was place his finger or thumb on the lock and she could drag him back to Hell before she returned to free the captured women in Brazil.

  “I can’t,” he gasped between the shrieks.

  “Can’t or won’t? I don’t need your approval, I just need your hand,” she huffed, annoyed by his resistance.

  “Can’t,” he hiccupped. The poison was slowing spreading to his chest and his breathing was becoming labored.

  She glared at him over her shoulder. Was he joking or being stubborn? She would rip off his thumb if necessary to free herself.

  Tipping over onto her thighs, she wiggled her body until she was close enough to grab his hands with hers. Fumbling around, she bent his finger and angled it toward the lock. She’d unlocked plenty of bonds, yet when she pressed his finger to the lock, they refused to become dormant. She tried multiple times as panic rose inside of her.

  “No! You are not crazy enough to lock me in Celestial Bonds without a way to free me,” she said hysterically. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and her lip trembled. She would not accept that she was completely fucked.

  “I no longer have the power to unlock them,” Haydn hissed through his clenched jaw.

  Her scream of frustration and rage sent the colorful birds in the surrounding trees into the air as they fled from her.

  “I cannot believe you would do this to me!” she stammered. She shimmied to her knees and forced her legs to stand. She kicked the nearest rock and raged at the sky, the river and her idiotic angel. “What were you thinking? Why would you lock me in these inescapable bonds?”

  Haydn pried open his eyes and stared at her. “I never expected you to release the other Predznak, though I told myself that I would give you every opportunity to do so before…,” he said as his voice cut off.

  Appalled by what he was refusing to say, she wanted to slap him. “You really planned to kill me,” she said, choking up as the truth made its way to her heart. Haydn really wanted to kill her. All of the Predznak she had encountered tried to harm her with the intention of killing her, but deep down she never believed that one of them was capable of carrying out the task.

  Staring down at Distrust, her heart shattered. He hadn’t even given her a chance to explain herself and tell him what she could offer him in return for his loyalty. Instead, he had chosen a dark path, one that he could not return from.

  Tears rolled down her face and moistened the salt and sand clinging to her cheeks. She never thought this would happen. One of her Predznak was beyond redemption and no longer worthy to stand by her side.

  Pain exploded inside her chest and spread throughout her body. This was what defeat and hopelessness felt like. She was disappointed in herself and in him. Unable to see a way to fix this betrayal, she listened to her angel’s agony-filled cries and prayed that the poison would somehow kill him so that she wouldn’t be forced to carry out his beheading herself.

  She wiped her tears as best she could with the shoulder of her coarse dress and looked at Haydn’s face.

  “Once I’m free, I will remove your head. Until then, I have nothing else to say to you,” she said, close to tears.

  She pushed further into the heat and humidity, hoping to find shelter before nightfall. Once she found a safe place for the night, she would mourn the loss of her misguided angel and figure out how to call for help. She needed to keep it together until it was safe for her to break down into the sobbing mess who had lost one of her angels to the darkness.

  Trudging through her leafy prison, she wondered if her remaining Predznak would be as far gone as Haydn or if there was still hope for the others. She cursed the Council for turning her into a mortal and keeping her from her angels, causing them to lose their minds.

  Remembering her dream of killing a Celestial Warrior, she recalled what Lucifer had said. As punishment for killing the warrior, she had been sentenced to life as a mortal. Was he right? Had the tragic death of a warrior resulted in her memories being hidden from her and her life being permanently altered? Was she responsible for dooming herself and her angels?

  As much as she wanted to blame the Council and the Predznak for their lack of faith in her, it seemed that she had caused her angels misery because she couldn’t control her power or her anger. How could one act create a ripple effect that had led Haydn down this unforgivable path? She wanted to cry and scream, but she needed to conserve her energy.

  She walked toward the highest point of the island, hoping to get to the top and look out across the island for help. It was the only thing she allowed herself to focus on.

  She searched the sky for the blasted sun. According to its position, it had been about three hours since she left Haydn to ponder his fate. She had, with some difficulty, slipped her legs through her arms so that her hands were now in front of her. It took a lot of time and effort to find low-hanging fruit to pluck from the trees, but she managed to feed herself. She wasn’t familiar with exotic fruits since her mortal parents had always stuck with the basics of bananas, apples, and pears but the new fruit tasted amazing to her starved mouth. Even with food in her stomach, it still felt hollow and empty. Her thirst had returned full-force despite drinking twice since the stream.

  She tried to admire the beauty of the island and its colorful leaves and flowers, but all she could see was Haydn writhing in pain. He deserved his punishment, but she had a hard time reconciling what he had done. She accepted his anger and his desperation, but it still bothered her that he was willing to sacrifice himself to defeat her.

  Sitting down on a mossy rock, she thought about his suicide mission. Maybe he wasn’t trying to defeat her so much as he was trying to free his brothers. Honestly, it was the last thing she expected from Distrust. Why would he commit a semi-noble act before dying? If he had conceived of this plot as an apology to his brothers, she could understand his reasoning, but she didn’t know enough about him to accept it as an act of kindness. The other Predznak rarely spoke about Haydn, except to complain about how quiet he was and how he often sat apart from them. When he did speak, he would whisper to them about how someone was plotting again them. He often tried to start fights between two people or the entire group. He would then sit back and watch them try to tear each other apart. Tristan, in particular, hated him. Haydn would increase his paranoia levels and trick
him into believing that everyone was against him.

  He chose to sit in corners to make sure no one snuck up on him. He would hide his face behind a deep hood or a scarf wrapped around his head, depending on the clothing native to the area where he was tempting. Alazar once mentioned that Haydn had worn masks whenever possible to avoid detection. It seemed that the sunglasses were his modern version of the masks.

  Periodically, she would stop to see if Haydn was following her, but he was nowhere to be found. She had no idea how long it would take for the poison to run its course, but she assumed that he would try to find her the first chance he got.

  She squinted into the distance and tried to figure out if she was heading toward higher ground or circling back around to the beach. Exhausted, she watched a red and blue bird swoop down and land a few feet from her on the ground. If she was to be stuck on a deserted island for a few years, this place seemed as nice as any to inhabit. It had plenty of water and she could learn how to forage and hunt.

  Laughing out loud, she wiped her face with her long sleeve. Apparently, she was more delusional than she thought. The Bringer of the Apocalypse living in the tree canopy like the Swiss Family Robinson would be completely absurd. Hopefully, she was close to losing consciousness because she was too tired to move.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the birds singing in the trees high above her. She thought about the last time she had heard birds singing and quickly opened her eyes. She didn’t need to relive her battle with Fenris inside his mental forest. The sounds of the jungle were different from Fenris’ forest, but she missed the familiarity of his woods. His forest was ancient and reminiscent of a different time. Those trees looked like the ones from her dreams, or rather, memories.

  She could still hear herself screaming as the trees exploded and shattered into projectiles. The explosion rivaled her scream of rage. She had never felt this kind of fury before. Everything around her was moving in slow motion and she could see every detail. The blood on the white tunic of the Celestial Warrior was burned into her mind. Even now, she felt like she could see every splinter of wood that hovered in the air and the shock and horror in the eyes of Farouk from being stabbed with the shard of wood.

  Though Lucifer had refused to speak of the incident beyond confirming that it had actually happened, she had focused hard enough on her memory to remember the Celestial Warrior’s name. Someone was shouting Farouk over the roar of the wind and the loud thuds of the heavy tree trunks falling behind her. She had no idea why this particular memory had awakened instead of the millions of other details from her life. It had to mean something, but she was too afraid to search for the answer. It might lead her to a truth she wasn’t ready to accept.

  Pulling herself up from the unyielding rock, she tugged at the bottom of her dress. Between her evening swim, her fight with Haydn, and her trips and tumbles through the untamed landscape, she had ripped her dress in multiple places and torn the bottom hem free. There were times when she wondered why Serena had created this specific dress and if it symbolized something beyond the Queen of the Dead vibe she had going for her. It was incredibly detailed for a demented angel, so it was possible that she had copied it from somewhere. She refused to consider the possibility that Serena could have been a dressmaker, had she been a mortal. She would be damned if she humanized Lucifer’s former lover and tormentor of her Predznak.

  She tugged at the hem until the bottom tore free, enabling her to walk without tripping on it. Shading her eyes from the harsh sunlight, she stepped over a fallen log, and continued her search for a decent shelter before she was forced to skin the local snakes and use their hides to craft a waterproof lean-to. She laughed and shook her head. She really needed to get off this island.

  A low growl to her left made her stop mid-stride. She suddenly feared that the die Drei had returned until she remembered that she was in the Brazilian jungle and that Troy and Noah were dead. She debated if she wanted to engage the wild animal or move on to a safer area. She might be able to hunt the animal and cook it instead of relying solely on fruit since she had no idea how long she would be on the island. Thinking about a nice steak dinner, she allowed her curiosity to take over and followed the rustling a few feet to her left.

  Peeking through the shrubs, she burst out laughing when she saw two dogs tugging on what looked like a tennis ball. How in the hell had two dogs managed to get lost on an island along with a tennis ball?

  She stepped through the leafy fern-like shrub, and got a better look at the dogs. One was a small black and tan Yorkie with a pink bow in its long fur and the other was a fat Bulldog, who was white with brown patches. They were both wearing collars and nametags. They were a little dirty and matted, but they looked well fed. She brightened at the thought that there might be people nearby…and real food.

  She slowly approached them and said hello in a friendly voice. They were scared when they saw her, and Yorkie barked at her, but the Bulldog wagged his nubby tail and came running toward her. When she scratched his ears and told him he was a good boy, the Yorkie conceded and requested to be scratched as well.

  She petted them for a moment before taking the ball and throwing it a few feet away. The Yorkie brought the ball back to her and licked her. “Let’s go find your parents,” she smiled.

  The three of them walked through the forest until Anjali saw a clearing in the distance. Her heart thumped at the thought of finding help. She had no way of calling home, but she had a phone number for Gabriel aka “Uncle Bob” that was answered by a message service. She used to call it when she needed to get a hold of him in her mortal life as Michelle. It was the perfect plan until she made it to the clearing and saw why the dogs were alone. An earthquake or an explosion had destroyed the once beautiful vacation resort in front of her. The windows facing the ocean had been blown out and the roof had collapsed in multiple places. Entire sections of the first and second floor of the white stucco building had crumbled. The grand entrance lined with palm trees had caved in, blocking off the entrance. Two different sections of the building were still smoldering, sending plumes of smoke into the air. She didn’t see any bodies from where she stood, so she hoped that everyone had been evacuated in time.

  She looked down at the dogs and felt bad for them. They must have been left behind during the evacuation. The devastation must have happened recently; otherwise, the dogs would have been malnourished.

  Stepping onto the white sandy beach, she sighed. It was possible that the phones were still working or that someone might have left a working cell phone behind, but it put a damper on her rescue plans. Her chances of getting help were dwindling, but she had to keep her hopes up.

  Looking down at her new friends, she snapped her fingers to get their attention and walked toward the resort.

  ∞

  Strolling through the building he had frequented for centuries, General Tabbris nodded at the familiar guards and wished them a good day. They had known him for years, or at least they knew the mortal persona that he portrayed. They believed he was a religious man who went to pray in the infamous jail where God’s faithful had been held centuries ago, as well as other notorious prisoners from the former Roman Empire. He was always careful to age his appearance appropriately so he did not raise suspicion. He did not want anyone questioning his business in Rome.

  He stepped out of the Mamertine Prison and cringed when he saw Major Demyan a few feet away, walking in circles. Tabbris was about to disappear before his Major saw him, but he was too slow. Demyan saw him and respectfully motioned for him to come closer as he moved toward an alleyway.

  Tabbris swore at his Major’s tracking skills. Though he was unable to hide his frequent visits to Rome over the centuries, he had kept the location and reason for his trips a closely guarded secret.

  He looked around to make sure that no other prying eyes had seen him and ducked between the buildings.

  Demyan was an excellent soldier and followed orders to the letter, so it wa
s doubtful that he was spying on him. He was loyal and typically unflappable, but today he seemed highly agitated. Tabbris did not like overly emotional soldiers because they were unfocused and often became a liability in a battle, but he decided to give his angel some leeway until he understood the problem.

  “General Tabbris, forgive me for coming here, but Lord Michael sent me to find you at once,” Demyan said apologetically.

  Tabbris suppressed a cringe at the mention of Michael. He usually allowed him to rule the Celestial Warriors as he saw fit, but there were times when he meddled in the affairs of the warriors despite it being unwarranted.

  “What does Lord Michael request of me?” he asked dutifully. He noted that Demyan was still pacing with his arms crossed. Something dire must have occurred.

  “It is the Destroyer, General, she has gone missing,” Demyan said as he stopped his pacing to face Tabbris.

  Tabbris wanted to smile, but did not believe it was the correct response to the little harlot running away with another of her former lovers. In all her years as a mortal, it seemed she only learned how to lay on her back with a man. He did not think that he could loathe her any more than he did, but she constantly proved him wrong.

  “Why do they need us to find her? Her Nachtghuls can locate her faster than we can.” He hated saying the word Nachtghuls. They were banned from existence, yet the tart had managed to obtain not one, but three of the foul creatures.

  Demyan swallowed harshly. “They believe she has been captured, but they do not know who is responsible. Mark delivered the message to the Council himself. Gabriel is demanding action by the warriors at once. They fear that she is in the hands of an enemy. They want her found immediately,” Demyan explained, though fear was not the reason for Demyan’s uneasiness, it was hatred. Tabbris had much in common with his Major.

  Trying not express his glee at the thought of Anjali being in the hands of an enemy would who torture her and end her pathetic life; he tried to express his indifference. “Do you believe that you can find her?” he asked quietly.