Awaken the Soul

by Michele G Miller

  Taking advantage of my preoccupation, Breckin’s wings surround me, drawing me near as he bridges the gap between us. He’s taller than me. Tall enough for me to fit under his chin as I walk into his arms and press my cheek against his unnaturally warm skin. My fingers lock behind his back, and he leaps at my icy touch. His dark wings envelop me—a Breckin cocoon, of sorts—and an overwhelming mix of tranquility and trepidation washes over me. Being in his arms is so right, yet I’m terrified. Not of him, or what he is—but of what’s happening. I fight the pull coaxing me to stroke his wings as his feathers ruffle. His hands shift on my back, one low and one high, his fingers slipping under the hair at my nape and holding my head against his chest.

  “Please don’t drop me.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  A rush of cold air hits me, stealing my ability to reply, as we shoot into the sky.

  This time I’m brave enough to turn my head and open my eyes to the world below. The lights of Havenwood Falls glow. It’s a cheery, lit-up town in an otherwise dark canyon of mountains and trees. Mathews River shimmers from one end of town to the other, and beyond. Cars dot the streets, moving slowly from work to home, from homes to stores. From here, the moonlight turns the flecks of gold in Stuart Fountain into glowing dancing fairies. The gazebo in town square is a beacon thanks to all the Christmas lights wrapped around it. My world is so small, so peaceful from this vantage point. Breckin’s wing shifts into my sightline, and with a deep breath, I understand: my world is nothing like I thought.

  We circle the town twice—“to assure we’re not being followed,” Breckin says tightly—before descending to a snow-covered deck. Breckin’s house is a completely updated and remodeled historic Victorian located on the corner of Fairchild and Eleventh. Not exactly the most private spot for a family of angels. The fence around the yard is a stone wall and iron bars. Anyone who passes by can see us standing here. I would have expected them to live up in the woods on a private lot, or in Havenwood Heights. I’ve passed this street hundreds of times. How did I not know he lived here?

  “You’re not worried about people seeing you?”

  Breckin shrugs as his wings disappear before my eyes, and he pulls his shirt from where it’s tucked into the back of his pants and draws it over his head. “Humans don’t see us like this.”

  “I see you,” I counter, leaning this way and that for a glimpse of his back as his shirt covers his skin.

  Amber eyes lock on mine. “I let you.”

  My argument dies, my breath catching at the cocky arch of his brow. I allow Breckin to lead me inside, his fingers warming mine. He pushes a hand through his hair, releasing deep sighs as we walk through the richly decorated—and unusually dark—house and down a set of stairs. He flips a switch, and we end up in what might as well be called an apartment in his basement. A living room, complete with a stone fireplace, a huge projection screen, and dark leather couches and chairs, fills the right side. An eat-in kitchen and bar fills the left. On the far end of the room is a second sitting area with two doors on the far wall. I make out the end of a bed through one and spot a sink—obviously a bathroom—through the other. Biting my nails for the sole purpose of ensuring my jaw hasn’t dropped to my knees, I turn and gawk at the rest of the basement: built-ins, a full-sized pool table, an old-fashioned arcade game, and a bar-height table with chairs in the corner.

  “I think this place is bigger than the apartment Mom and I live in.”

  “My house?” Breckin asks, leaving me standing at the bottom of the steps.

  I laugh at the excess laid out before me. “No, your basement.”

  The fireplace flares to life with the flick of another switch, and Breckin straightens. “Sorry,” he says uncomfortably.

  My eyes wander the room. No Christmas tree, lights, presents, or stockings. The upstairs was dark and unfestive as well. Christmas is in two weeks. “Don’t you celebrate the holidays?”

  He’s an angel—isn’t Christmas a pretty big deal to them?

  Breckin’s mouth twists, his shoulder sort of popping up in a half shrug as he looks around. He seems indifferent. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “Sorry, that’s not my business.” I hug myself, and my teeth chatter as a shiver works from my toes to the top of my head.

  Breckin grabs a throw. “You’re freezing. Take off your shoes and jacket and come sit by the fire.”

  I wiggle my toes in my boots. They’re ice, despite the thick wool socks I wear. The fire looks delectable, but I stand fixed at the base of the stairs—uncertain. Searching my bag, I pull out my phone as Breckin remains beside the fire, his face impassive.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  My eyes lift from my cell.

  “You’re safe, Vivienne. He won’t come here, and I won’t hurt you,” he repeats.

  “I know.” I sigh, like I’m surprised the words came from my lips.

  Breckin shoves his hair back, his right eye narrowing thoughtfully.

  “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? After tonight . . . I don’t think I truly know anything, but . . .” I pause. My fear and hesitation aren’t rooted in what he is, or isn’t. We’ve lived in the same town and gone to the same school all our lives. He’s got an ego, he causes trouble occasionally, but he’s not a bad guy. And he isn’t someone I’ve ever been afraid of. Still, my heart races as nerves dance in my stomach. I’m terrified of letting down my guard. Terrified of my thoughts, my feelings. Feelings? Where did this come from?

  “I trust you. I’m just—” My shoulders lift when I can’t articulate properly.

  “Freaked out? Scared as hell? Considering a mental institution?” He says it with such calm—straight-faced, mouth drawn—I can’t prevent laughter from bubbling up.

  “Well, thank goodness.” My fingers fumble with my jacket as my hesitance melts away. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who thinks I’m crazy.”

  Breckin’s poker face slips as I untangle my bag from around my neck and set it on the floor. I shrug out of my jacket, kick off my boots, and inhale deeply before daring to move forward.

  He holds the throw blanket out as I near him and the plump chair he’s angled toward the fire. “You’re not crazy, Vivienne.”

  That’s debatable. “First things first.” Accepting the blanket, I sit and pull my knees to my chest, covering my legs and feet. “I should text Zara so she doesn’t call my mom.”

  “Good idea. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He crosses the room to the kitchen as I type out a vague text. My gaze flits from the keyboard to his back, unable to not look for evidence of the wings hiding in there somewhere. Do they hide? Are they magic? Invisible? “Ask whatever you want.”

  My head snaps up. Breckin’s face reflects in a mirror running from floor to ceiling behind the wet bar. He watches me stare at him. My cheeks burn. Hitting send on my text, I drop the phone to my lap and drag the throw to my chin. The fire works its magic, the flames warming my frozen toes.

  “I’m not sure what to ask,” I admit, after a moment of watching him watch me.

  He pulls two water bottles from a mini refrigerator, his mouth twisting. “You’ve been watching my backside—”

  I choke. “Uh, watching your wings. Not your backside, thank you very much.”

  “Yes, my wings. That’s what I meant, Vivie. I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”

  I gape at his smug grin. His tease draws my ire at the same time his calling me Vivie draws goosebumps over my skin. “I do not have a dirty mind.”

  As if testing me, he twists the lid from his water and drinks half of it—a knowing smile on his perfect face when he’s done. Darn my eyes for staring. I face the fire and bite the inside of my cheek.

  Breckin sets a bottle of water on the table by my chair and takes a seat on the couch. I peer into the fire, watching the flames leap around the ceramic logs, the blue glow from the gas flickering at the base.

  “I like real fires better,” I say for no reason, o
ther than to break the silence, my eyes not leaving the fireplace. “There’s no snap, crackle, and pop to a gas fire. No faces in the burning logs.”

  “Faces in the logs?”

  “Yeah? Don’t you ever stare at the flames? At the way the embers and burnt logs burn into creatures?” My breath catches. Creatures, like demons and dragons—that’s what I usually see in a fire. Scary fairytale type things I never considered real, like angels. Now I’m unsure.

  “The one upstairs is real. I brought you down here because the lack of windows is safer.”

  I work up the nerve to face him, to ask my questions. “Safer from what?”

  He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his thighs. He flips his water bottle between his knees and regards me.

  “You said you would tell me everything if I came with you. What happened yesterday? Why do I need to be in your basement? Why do I need safety?”

  His head falls. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”

  “Why would this be your fault?”

  Yesterday was a normal day. Zara dropped me off after school. I ate a snack with my mom, then changed to go for a run while she got ready for work. She dropped me at my usual trailhead at the base of Mount Alexa, and I started jogging. For the past three years, I’ve followed this route—jogging for several miles. Yesterday something happened. Something different.

  “You said I was attacked, that you heard me scream. But I have no memory of it. I have no physical injuries.” I shake my head, challenging everything he told me.

  “You have bruises,” he says softly. “On your ribs.”

  “How would you—”

  He sinks into the couch. “Because I took your clothes off, Vivienne. I carried you back to my house and undressed you and made sure you were okay before carrying you home.”

  My sports bra and running tights. Half my clothing was missing. My shoes were missing. My breathing accelerates, the possibilities filling my mind.

  “You were covered in blood. I saw it from the air and . . . it’s not the first time I’ve seen a wild animal attack while out flying, but . . . but I followed the trail. Something drew me down to earth yesterday. Something made me track you.”

  My fingernails dig into my palms as the blood drains from my face.

  “Whatever it was ran off. All I saw was a flash of movement as I came through the trees and saw you lying there.”

  “No.” My feet slip from the chair, dropping to the floor with a thud as I sit forward. “No, that’s not right. Blood from where? I’m not injured. I’m fine.” A tear slides down my face.

  “I’m an angel.”

  He’s no longer cocky and full of egotistical pride. He says those three words as if they’re nothing—like reciting the day’s weather or answering a simple question. My palm covers my mouth.

  It is the answer.

  He’s an angel. He called the other a reaper. A reaper.

  “You said I was dead. He said you stole me from him.” Images flash through my mind. The rip of claws at my side. The darkness hovering, the pain of a million suns consuming my body, the amber eyes—Breckin’s eyes—filled with worry. My cheeks are hot with tears. “Breckin?”

  “You were moments from death. He was here to take your soul. You were supposed to die.” His pain-laced voice cuts me deeper than knowing the truth.

  But I didn’t die. My wounds were healed.

  He nods, somehow knowing my thoughts and confirming what I know to be true. “I healed you. I brought you back.”

  Pieces

  Breckin

  “Angels aren’t supposed to interfere in Death’s work.” I slide to the far end of the couch, putting myself directly across from her. “I won’t apologize for it. I couldn’t let you die, Viv.” Leaning forward, I pluck her hands from her lap.

  She’s in shock. Her shoulders slumped, her jaw slack, her hands limp in mine. Her eyes seem far away, staring past my face, but I tell her everything. I start at the beginning and explain exactly what I saw when I landed in the snow and found the reaper over her. What he said. How I responded. Finished, I lean closer, my head bobbing around until she meets my gaze.

  “I won’t let him take you, I swear.” My fingers tighten their grasp.

  Her face undergoes a kaleidoscope of emotions before she wets her lips and speaks. “On the mountain, earlier . . . he said something.”

  He said a few things. “Yes?”

  “He said you were a son of an angel in love with a human.” Her gaze slides left, as her cheeks color. “Is that true?” she asks, returning her ice-blue stare to mine.

  “There isn’t an easy answer to your question.”

  “Then the answer is no.” She pulls her hands from mine and sits back.

  I nearly growl. My hand clutches her blanket-covered knee, because it’s the closest thing in my reach, as I lean in, bringing my face inches from hers. “No. The answer isn’t that simple.”

  Our eyes lock and hold in a battle of wills before I remove my hand and give her space. “We barely speak, Vivienne. Would you believe me if I said I was in love with you?”

  Her hair dances around her face as she shakes her head. “Of course not.”

  “But you’re angry?”

  Her mouth opens, then closes, her head turning to the fire once again as she exhales deeply. If I knew what love was, if I knew how to decipher the emotions she’s brought to life in the last twenty-four hours . . . the reaper might be right.

  “My mother died giving birth to me, did you know that? My father wasn’t around much. I had nannies.”

  Sadness clouds her eyes. “I remember the nannies.”

  Sure she does. Kids asked me all the time why I had a ‘new mom’ every few years. That’s what happens when your nannies sleep with your angel father—they don’t last long.

  “He isn’t the easiest, uh . . . person, for lack of a better word. Feelings are weakness. That’s what I was raised to believe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  How do I explain the supernatural world to someone who’s never known it? “There’s a hierarchy amongst angels. Good versus evil. The righteous versus the sinners.”

  She fidgets in the chair, pulling her legs up. “I know the Bible.”

  “Then you know angels aren’t fat, happy toddlers painted on ceilings. We’re warriors, fighters. My father isn’t half blood, he’s Divine. A Dominion.” She works to understand, but her expressive face gives her away. She’s lost. My titles and explanations make no sense. Why would they?

  “He isn’t good.” I let my revelation sit for a moment. “And I’m not supposed to be good either.”

  Unexpectedly, she huffs a light laugh. “What in the world does that mean?”

  “I tell you my father is a Dominion angel of sin and you laugh?”

  She laughs louder, her fingers going to her lips. Does nothing unnerve her? She’s extremely calm, considering she’s learned about angels, reapers, and her own near-death experience tonight.

  “No, you told me he wasn’t good. That is a far cry from . . . what did you call him? A Dominion angel of sin?”

  “They’re pretty much the same thing. Just different levels of bad, I suppose.”

  Technicalities. I’m playing a game with words, and Vivienne knows it. Her face twists into the chastising grimace.

  “Different levels of bad?” Her shoulders shake with laughter. Her brows knit together, and her smile falters as she inhales sharply. “Is that who the reaper meant, when he said they’d kill you? Was he talking about your father?”

  And now she understands the hierarchy of angels. There isn’t much loyalty.

  “No. My father won’t kill me.” Not because he loves me as his son. He wants me for what’s to come. Rubbing my forehead, I stretch my neck from side to side. “Honestly, I don’t know what the reaper meant. I healed you. I interceded where I shouldn’t have. There are those who would have a problem with that.” And those who w
ould take issue with me telling her about us to begin with.

  “Are you in trouble?” Her forehead wrinkles as she chews at the edge of a fingernail. “What can they do to you?”

  Her concern sparks something within me. The pressure in my chest returns, the talons digging in again. “Of all things, you’re worried about me?” I’m astonished.

  She snatches a strand of hair and wraps it around her finger. “You saved my life.”

  I reach for the hair, rubbing it between the pad of my thumb and index finger. “And I’d do it again. I’m not worried about the consequences. The reaper doesn’t realize who I am. Who my father is.”

  Her hand covers mine, dragging it from her hair as she holds my gaze. “What about me?”

  What is she asking?

  “What happens to me in this whole situation?”

  My cell phone buzzes, saving me from replying. I stand and fish it from my pants pocket. It’s Elias. I hold a finger up to Vivienne and wander toward the kitchen.

  “Hey.” I refrain from saying his name to protect his identity. He’s been a resident of this town as long as I have. He runs a business, eats, shops, and plays in the same places the rest of us do.

  “What the hell did you do tonight? I’m hearing chatter. You know there are eyes everywhere in this town, Breckin.”

  Damn supernaturals. “The reaper I told you about, he’s hanging around and making threats.”

  “Threatening you?” Elias’ voice drips with anger.

  “Me. And Vivienne.”

  Elias growls, and Vivienne’s eyes go wide. He’d cause an avalanche if he were up in the mountains.

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can find out. We shouldn’t have a reaper lurking around unless he’s doing his job. I was told she saw you both. The Court won’t like that. Erase her memory.”

  “I can’t.” I turn my back to Vivienne and lower my voice. “It doesn’t work on her. I tried last night. Plus, I need her to know everything until I take care of this. I can’t keep her safe if she doesn’t know.”