Restoration

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “Nope. That’s his job,” Uriel replies, pointing to Gage as he makes his way over to us.

  “I need a shot of brandy. Do you have any in this house, love?” Gage mumbles.

  I wipe the grease off my fingers onto a napkin. “Under the sink.”

  “Libby allowed you alcohol?” Michael asks paternally.

  “Allowed? No. Snuck? Yes,” I admit.

  “Quite inappropriate for a daughter of Heaven,” he scolds. “Or her protector.”

  “This protector drinks. You can credit your ball of sunshine over there for tonight’s necessity,” Gage retorts, nodding to me before he swallows a full shot of the liquid.

  “SUNSHINE!” Uriel booms. “Of course. You’d think the angel of wisdom, in charge of the Orb of the Sun, would have thought of that on his own,” he says quietly to himself.

  “You’re in charge of the sun?” I ask, with disbelief lining my tone.

  “Wait, weren’t you the angel that guided Lucifer to Earth?” Gage counters.

  “An error I’ve spent lifetimes attempting to rectify,” Uriel replies guiltily.

  Michael exhales slowly. “Mr. Gallagher, I do believe we are all capable of missteps. It is the manner in which we become accountable and rectify them that permits redemption.”

  My lips part in surprise. “Pretty big mistake there, Uncle Urie,” I jab.

  Uriel winks and smirks with intent. “Makes for an interesting human existence, though.”

  “In your divine opinion. Not in my human one,” I oppose.

  He waves me off. “Listen, sunshine, whine to the ‘rent about it later. For now, why don’t you give Mikey and me the deets of what happened with the dark army earlier tonight.”

  “First, you seriously need to stop using pop-culture slang. It’s weird. Second, please, I beg of you, stop with the nicknames,” I demand. “I’m eighteen. Not ten.”

  Uriel straightens his stance. “I know how old you are, Generation Z.”

  I smirk around a mouthful of pizza. “Newer than Millennials.”

  “That’s a clever tag line,” Michael interjects with a proud tone that makes me stop and study him. A weird feeling curls in my stomach at the paternal way he is beaming at me. “I like that you have Libby’s witticism. And her hair.” His expression softens.

  “Thanks.” I swallow hard and avert my gaze just as the front door slams open.

  We snap our focus to the bruised and battered gargoyles as they walk in with solemn expressions. I stand and all but run over to them. One by one, they greet me and step aside, finally revealing Keegan, carrying my protector’s lifeless body in his arms.

  My breath hitches and my world tilts.

  The silence of the room engulfs me.

  And my connection to my protector slips away.

  Chapter 10

  Letting Go

  My abdominal muscles clench like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I can’t move or breathe. Numbly, I just stand there, unmoving and gaping at the sight before me. Everything around me stirs in slow motion. It’s as if time has stopped.

  Through the pulsing in my eardrums, I faintly hear an echo of Callan’s voice. I watch his lips move, but the words aren’t registering. Instead, my conversation with Gage at Notre Dame floats through my mind.

  “My body felt empty and my heart hollow. It was as if my soul left me. And I knew. I knew she was gone. Even still, my mind wouldn’t believe it to be truth,” he said.

  The poignant meaning of his statement seeps in, and I exhale the feeling of complete dread that I’m experiencing, because in this moment, my soul is bleeding dry, and the fullness in my heart is fading away. I can feel the link Asher and I share slipping away, diminishing with each passing second.

  My matching mark refuses to pulse. Our connection is letting go.

  I watch with parted lips and dull fascination while Keegan steps around me, taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor. My gaze stays locked onto his retreating back, and my feet remain planted, unable to move forward. The darkness is descending again.

  “Eves.” Callan uses a firm voice that cuts through my haze.

  “What happened?” My voice quivers on the question.

  Abby averts her eyes and McKenna lifts her chin before following after her mate.

  “He was pierced in the heart,” Callan explains in a gentle tone. “From behind.”

  “Eve.” Keegan’s intonation makes its way down the staircase. “A moment, if you will.”

  I look around the room, taking in the sober expressions on the gargoyles and angels before making my way to the second floor. My steps are slow and measured as I walk into the master suite toward the bed. I drag my gaze up to meet Keegan’s. The pressure clamps down on my chest when I see the worry behind his eyes. Oh shit. This is bad.

  I turn my attention to Asher’s still form. My hands tremble as my gaze travels over his unmoving body. His chest is rising and falling with shallow breaths and his skin has a sickly washed-out gray tint to it. The color ignites recognition within me that our bond was the only thing preventing him from turning into stone this evening.

  My breath hitches in panic. If our connection fades, then Asher will be in danger in more ways than one. By not finishing the bond, I’ve left him unprotected. Shit. Dumb, Eve. I look around my mother’s master suite, awkwardly.

  “He should heal in stone state. He can’t do that here,” I blurt out the obvious.

  Keegan closes his tired eyes and runs his hands over his face. “We can’t bring him to any of the manors. It’s unsafe. My father has access to the chambers.”

  My shoulders sag. “How the hell is he supposed to get better then, Keegan?”

  “You’re bonded to Asher. You two share healing energies. I would think what my mate is saying is pretty straightforward, blood of Eden,” McKenna retorts.

  “You want me to heal him here?” I ask, looking around.

  “It’ll take longer, but if you push the energies into him, it will work,” Keegan answers.

  Crap. I don’t want the clan, especially Keegan and McKenna, to know the bond has begun to grow fainter. Abby warned me that if I didn’t infuse the mate mark with Asher’s blood, our connection would disappear gradually. She was right. It’s begun to fade, and now, I may never have the chance to truly become his. My stomach roils at the thought.

  “I’m not su—,” I start, but Keegan cuts me off with a sharp glance.

  “I understand it looks bad, Eve, but he’ll be okay. With your help,” he encourages.

  My help. After an uncomfortable pause, I clear my throat. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Keegan watches me suspiciously before granting me a curt nod. “I need a first aid kit.”

  My eyes roam over Asher’s body, landing on the spot where his protector tattoo is, and my hands curl inwardly, clenching tightly in anger. He sent me away, and I wasn’t there to protect him.

  Damn gargoyle.

  “EVE!” McKenna barks. “FIRST. AID. KIT,” she repeats each word, loudly.

  I startle and drag my attention to Keegan. “Under the sink . . . in the hallway bathroom.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbles and hurriedly stalks out.

  McKenna narrows her sapphire stare at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I exhale slowly. “What?”

  She steps into my personal space. “My blood runs through your veins now,” she states snottily. “I can sense your emotions. I expected buckets of tears. I expected you to fall to your knees at the sight of him. I expected you to go on and on about how you can’t survive without him. Instead, you look like you’re planning to run in the other direction. Why?”

  “You think because I’m not hysterically falling apart that I don’t care that the love of my life is unconscious and covered in blood?” I huff. “Shared emotional link or not, you have no idea what I’m feeling, McKenna, so don’t act like you do.”

  “Everything all right in here, ladies?” Callan asks from
the doorway.

  I turn my attention to him and Abby as they step into the room. “What the hell happened tonight? That gash is not a small wound, Callan. Who was protecting him?” I rant wildly.

  Abby’s face visibly pales, and Asher’s brother has the good sense to look guilty.

  “I’ll tell you who wasn’t protecting him,” McKenna scoffs.

  I spin so fast toward her that her eyes widen slightly. “He sent me away!”

  “I found the kit,” Keegan announces, walking into the shit storm.

  “EXACTLY!” McKenna bellows.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I yell back.

  McKenna’s shoulders roll back and her chin lifts. “You will always hurt him. It doesn’t matter whether it’s intentional or not, or if you’re present or not. The feelings he has for you blind his ability to protect himself and this clan. You. Make. Him. Weak.”

  “STOP!” Abby shrieks, storming over to us. “Just. Fucking. Stop it. Both of you!”

  McKenna’s and my expressions turn to ones of startlement at Abby’s furious demeanor. Abby’s angry gaze shifts between McKenna and me. Her expression enraged, I notice the red hue of her cheeks matches her hair. Shit. A mad Abby is not a good thing.

  “Asher is hurt because of me. Not Eve,” she admits, dropping her voice.

  “Baby,” Callan says in order to silence her.

  Abby throws him her be quiet look and steps in between McKenna and myself.

  “It’s true. I’m the reason Asher is lying on that bed, probably bleeding out because you two are bickering like children instead of allowing Keegan to help him,” she scolds. “Callan, help Keegan to clean and attend to your brother’s wounds please,” she orders.

  I inhale sharply at her reprimand. McKenna’s rigid stance softens. Our juvenile power struggle ends and I slide my gaze to Asher. Abby’s right. He’s probably bleeding out. Crap.

  Keegan and Callan storm around the three of us and begin to remove Asher’s blood-soaked shirt before nursing and washing the wound on his back where he was slashed.

  My nostrils flare at the sight. “I don’t understand,” I breathe out. “Why would you be the reason he’s so badly injured, Abby?”

  Her crystal blue gaze falls to the floor as she swallows. “I was focused on protecting Callan. His back was turned, and a demon was about to attack him, so I swung around and sliced the demon’s throat in order to protect my mate,” she explains in a soft whisper.

  McKenna smirks evilly. “A gargoyle protecting one's mate, what a revelation.”

  “Fuck you,” I snip.

  “By the grace, you two. Would you please, please, just stop,” Abby begs, and suddenly I become aware of how exhausted she looks. “I was so focused on Callan that I didn’t see the second demon coming straight at me until it was too late. I panicked and froze. Asher immediately leaped in front of me, taking the strike instead, protecting us.”

  I frown. “Us? You mean, you and Callan?”

  Her head moves from side to side, slowly, and her hands splay across her stomach.

  “No. By us, I mean, the baby and me. I’m pregnant.”

  The entire room falls silent. I just watch Abby with parted lips, stunned at her admission. I’m not sure why I feel the need to stare at her. Maybe it’s because I’m eighteen and haven’t really ever known anyone pregnant before. I think I’m waiting for her to vomit, or ask me for ice cream. I should say something encouraging. Luckily for me, McKenna speaks first.

  McKenna’s face falls. “You’re pregnant? And . . . you told Asher before me?” she barely releases in a quiet tone.

  My brows lift. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen McKenna hurt. Or have an emotion other than hate. Holy shit. Sadness is not a pretty look on her. It’s actually freaky.

  Abby’s eyes dance with unhappiness. “Nooo,” she draws out a little too high-pitched, taking McKenna’s hands in hers. “You are not just my cousin, you’re my sister, which makes you one of the first members of this clan I wanted to tell. I swear, Kenna.”

  “Really?” McKenna asks in disbelief.

  “I promise,” Abby assures.

  Callan comes over and places his arms around Abby’s waist, pulling her back into his chest. “After we got settled here, we were going to have a family dinner and make the announcement. You know, in a peaceful, chocolate-cake-filled environment. The kind we’d like our child to be raised in,” Callan teases solemnly.

  “Asher knows—he stepped in to save you and the baby?” Kenna clarifies.

  My eyes fall onto my resting mate while Keegan repositions him on the bed comfortably.

  “Please,” Abby rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows that Callan is a gossip queen. Asking him to keep a secret is like asking a rabbit to resist a carrot. It’s unheard of.”

  “Hey! I can keep a secret,” Callan sulks.

  “Clearly, you can’t, babe,” she counters. “I’m sorry he told Asher first.” Abby looks apologetically between McKenna and me.

  “And me,” Keegan interjects, cleaning up the unused bandages.

  Abby’s mouth falls open in surprise, and then her eyes narrow as she spins to face her mate. “Loose lips sink ships, Callan Thomas St. Michael.”

  Callan releases a light chuckle. “There are no secrets in this clan, babe. In my defense, you’ve flat out refused to stop protecting Eves, which places you, and my child, in danger. Asher and Keegan needed to know for security and safety reasons,” he points out.

  I frown. “Abby, you can’t continue to protect me if you’re pregnant.”

  She turns crossly in Callan’s arms. “The hell I can’t, human. I am pregnant, not dead.”

  “By the grace, Abigail. It isn’t safe,” McKenna adds. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Abby stares at her cousin, then flips her annoyed gaze my way before stepping out of Callan’s arms. “Listen here, you two, there is nothing I would love to see more than my child’s aunts getting along. Nothing. That said, don’t you two team up on this. I am a protector. It is what I do. My assignment is to help with Eve’s protection, and I will do so without argument or being treated like glass. Are we clear?”

  McKenna’s face pinches before her frustrated expression meets my matching one.

  “Is this why you always smell like pickles now?” I ask, changing topics.

  Abby makes a face. “No. That’s all Callan. Pickles give me heartburn.”

  My eyes lift to Callan, seeking an explanation.

  “What?” he asks innocently. “I can have sympathy cravings.”

  “Then have them for chocolate cake,” Abby pouts.

  “I hate to say this, but there will be plenty of time to celebrate our new family member later. Right now, Asher is resting comfortably. Why don’t we give Eve time alone with him so she can help him heal,” Keegan suggests. “The rest of us should get cleaned up. Callan and I will speak with Michael and Uriel regarding protection surrounding the house and update them on what occurred with the dark army. I’m guessing Gage could use a break.”

  Everyone agrees and leaves me alone in the room with Asher. He’s stretched out in the center of the bed, on his stomach, with his head facing me. I watch each shallow breath that passes through his lips. What if I can’t heal him anymore? Shit! Pull it together, Eve. Of course you can help heal him. Just breathe. I huff at my own dramatics.

  All of a sudden, Callan is standing silently next to me. I twist to face him, drawing my brows together to question his presence. I’d thought he left with everyone else. He offers a small smile, and without words, opens his warm arms. I drop my chin and step into them gratefully. He pulls me tighter into a bear hug before dropping a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Asher saved my son tonight, cutie,” he whispers into the top of my hair.

  I bury my face into his chest. “How do you know you’re having a boy?”

  Callan chuckles lightly. “Oh, I know. I’m never wrong about these things. Trust me.”

&nb
sp; I bask in the warmth and comfort of his arms for a moment longer before stepping away.

  “All good?” he asks.

  “All good.”

  Callan nods, planting one last kiss on my temple before he leaves the room. I turn back to the bed nervously. I sit beside Asher with my gaze locked on his peaceful expression. His skin is so pale. My heart pounds in scattered beats while my eyes crawl across his body.

  I slide my eyes shut. “I’m tired, Ash. So fucking tired.” Tired of fighting. Tired of worrying. Tired of being sad and losing people I love. “I have no more fight left in me.”

  With great care not to disturb his injured body, I lie down next to him and curl into his side, wrapping both of my arms around one of his and placing my forehead under his chin. I inhale his scent and relax in the warmth he’s emitting before falling into a slumber.

  Confusion swirls inside of me as my lids blink open and I take in my surroundings. Small slits of light are peering through the sheer fabric covering the modest windows. I lay still for several moments, taking in the cream walls of my childhood home. Taking in a deep breath, I blink my eyes fully open and twist to look at the beautiful sleeping gargoyle next to me.

  My heart rate picks up as I remember he’s hurt and can’t stone sleep, which also means we can’t dream walk with one another. Damn. I lift my hand and allow my fingers to drift over his jaw, his constant five o’clock shadow scratching the tips.

  Languidly, I trace the lines and brush my fingers over the curve of his soft lips. His skin is still ashen but the dark shadows under his eyes are gone. Asher’s thick lashes are unmoving. Without realizing what I’m doing, I slide forward and kiss his parted lips.

  With everything I have in me, I force my healing energies into his body, but I feel nothing except the static of a small push. An odd sound falls from my lips, half-pained and half-disappointed as I pull my lips away.

  I drop my gaze to the small space between us to discover there are no dark tendrils of electricity. My heart sinks. I swallow down the panic that claws its way up my throat. I tell myself that it isn’t too late, even though that dark whisper in my mind says differently.