Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  She was a killer before today. Had killed in the name of the Cause before. Never like this. Never so brutal, with her bare hands. Now she’d ripped a girl’s throat from her neck. And whether justified or not, now she’d done it all. Killed in all ways. To be standing there at the age of sixteen—at any age—wearing that crown, was all at once more than she could bear.

  “Come.” Zac was beside her. Visible from the corner of her eye, appearing from the nothingness of the hall. He held out a hand. When she failed to move or change in any way he reached gently and turned off the water. The resulting quiet was palpable and she continued to stand there, unmoving as the last drips faded into the silence.

  She wasn’t catatonic; she knew that. A zombie, yes, but not entirely. It was just …

  She wanted to curl up in a corner and be left alone.

  Zac led her, checking her with worried glances as they walked. They passed through the modest foyer, complete with a small chandelier that hung from the second floor, everything kind of dusty, kind of unused but not utterly so; old furniture visible out in the living room as they went to the stairs, wooden steps creaking but sturdy, up to the top, turned down a long, quiet hallway with a carpeted runway and a few doors, ending at what had to be the master bathroom.

  Inside was an old claw-foot tub. A big one, right at the center of the room. A spacious room, as bathrooms went, black-and-white tiles on floor and walls, white porcelain sink and more iron fixtures. Morning sunlight streamed through a dirty, paned window looking out over the forest side of the house, little dust motes twirling in the orange beams. Dust that had probably lain undisturbed for a great, long time, stirred to action as Zac brought the old room somewhat to life, drawing a bath that steamed visibly. There was hot water. Apparently the old farmhouse wasn’t entirely dead.

  “I’ll make a fire,” he said.

  And he left. It was quiet in the bathroom. She heard him moving about a few rooms away. For a long time she simply stayed in that spot, just inside the door, mesmerized by the little waves of steam on the surface of the tub.

  She went over to it. Stripped off what few bits of the dress remained, the nice underwear she’d picked at the boutique—all she had left at that point, soaked and ruined—dropped it all on the floor and stood there, naked. The necklace was still on, the thin bracelets, the anklet. She slipped off the bracelets, but found no energy to do more. She left the others on and stepped in.

  The room was cool, she noticed, the contrastingly sharp sting of the tub’s heat bringing her into focus. It burned hot on her feet and legs, halfway up her shins; a deep bath and it felt good. And for the first time in what seemed like forever she felt a sense of soothing. For a long moment she just stayed like that, staring out the window, back to the door, in a daze but becoming aware enough to realize she was standing there on full display, and wondered for a moment if Zac might walk in.

  He didn’t. She could hear him still moving about a few rooms over, clanking this or thunking that, but whatever he was doing occupied his attention and he didn’t return. Slowly she squatted, down into the water, feeling its hot, defining edge trace a line across her skin as she settled deeper. Soothing, intense heat below the line of the water; cool, crisp air above.

  She sat all the way. Pushed back into the sloping curve at the rear of the large tub and extended her legs all the way out. Her feet didn’t go to the other end. It was the kind of tub you could stretch all the way out in, at least someone her size, and she put her arms in and sank lower, all the way until the warm water rose to her chin, lapping gently as she lay still and everything settled. The little waves of steam began to tickle her nose.

  After a bit she held up her hand. Turned it front to back, scrutinizing palm and wrist. Water glistened, dripping from her skin; no sign of blood. Any stains she saw earlier must just have been an illusion. The product of an overtaxed mind.

  She lowered her arm back into the tub and looked over her body, distorted and undulating beneath the slowly moving water. Dirt from the ordeal had begun to float free, clouding it. She rubbed at the most persistent spots and they came clean. Looked around. There were no washcloths, no soap. No towel in the room. She assumed Zac would bring her something, if there was anything to bring. Hard to believe the abandoned house would be stocked. She rubbed more, found scrapes, one bruise. The polish on her nails was still fresh, not even a day old yet, some chips but otherwise shining bright blue as she wiped away the grime. A stark flash of color, fun; an attempt to look pretty that stood in direct opposition to the way she felt.

  She slid further down, head in the water, face just breaking the surface, hair floating about her shoulders and her scalp. She wiped her palms across her face a few times, getting rid of the last of the makeup, and for a long while just floated there, the water oh-so soothing, body rocking ever so gently, hovering against the bottom of the tub, swaying back and forth in the waves each time she moved. She closed her eyes and listened to the muffled silence of the house, gradually losing the tiny connections to the aches, the pain. The world.

  And finally felt herself breathing.

  “Here’s a towel.” Zac’s voice was dull beneath the water. She opened her eyes. Raised her head slowly, seeing him standing in the doorway across the room. He held a plain white towel and seemed hesitant; unsure what to do next.

  Apparently the house was stocked after all.

  “Come in,” she said, wondering whether she really wanted him to. Did she want to be alone? Did she want him to see her naked? Even beneath the somewhat cloudy, distorted surface of the bath? No matter; now that she’d asked she couldn’t take it back.

  Still he seemed hesitant.

  “You sure?”

  She was.

  Slowly he entered, found a hook for the towel inside the door and came to stand beside the tub. Awkwardly. He tried not to look down, tried to look out the window, at the forest, at anything but her. Then, realizing how stupid that must seem, fixed his gaze on her eyes. She looked up at him, chin in the water, eyes turned up, ends of her hair drifting softly about her shoulders; stretched out in the tub, floating, completely naked. Raw before him, feeling suddenly liberated that he could see all of her, every inch, and yet he’d already seen so much, seen her in so many ways, so many more significant, more important ways—after all they’d been through the nakedness of her skin hardly mattered.

  In a way it only made that deeper bond official.

  “Sit,” she told him. The large bathroom was nearly empty, just an old toilet and a bidet, the sink and the tub. He settled himself to the floor and leaned against it, one arm on the side, head next to hers, and as he looked into her eyes, too close now to be distracted by anything else, he seemed finally to relax.

  They sat like that for many minutes, so comfortable, so natural, the hot water soothing. Jess soon found herself in a sort of rapture. Terrible events had transpired, terrible events were likely on the horizon, but in that moment, as she’d learned to accept—moments were to be lived, the good with the bad—in that moment she and Zac were one.

  It felt right.

  “I’m not sure what to do next,” he said quietly. “I should probably get us to Satori before—”

  “Shhh,” Jess shook her head slowly. “Let’s not talk about any of that for a bit. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  For a second it looked as if Zac had another idea, was going to make another suggestion related to their plight, but routed his thoughts elsewhere and said instead:

  “You did what had to be done.”

  “I know.”

  “We both did.”

  “I know.”

  “Whatever powers they have …”

  “Shhh,” Jess held a wet finger to her lips. “Let’s not talk about it.”

  Zac was at a loss. There was so much to talk about, so much to discuss, so much to figure out … she could see it was difficult for him to turn his mind from it. Knew it was. Because she was having the same trouble. But sh
e wanted to. Needed to. Needed to put it all far away, if only for a little while.

  He sat there staring at her as she, in turn, stared at him. Studying his face in the soft glow of the morning sun; strong, perfect—as handsome in that proximity as at any range. Zac was so perfect. So sweet. He cared for her so very much.

  She felt undeserving of it.

  “I want to help you,” he fairly whispered. She focused, realizing she’d been looking into his face, thoughts somewhere else. Beneath the admiration of his stare she looked down, dipped her chin in the water and let a little flow into her mouth, tasting the heat.

  “From the moment we met.” He searched for words. “I don’t know.” He almost gave up. “I can’t describe it. It’s like you’re a girl out of time. A girl … but not. Something greater. I know you hate it, I know it bothers you when people talk this way, but I can see why they think you’re an angel.”

  She lowered her chin more, keeping her eyes on his.

  “I mean, you’re here, you’re very much here, and yet it’s almost as if you’re beyond us. You’re walking around, feeling undeserving,” he echoed her thoughts, “incapable, wanting out of what you’ve fallen into, all the while not realizing you’ve got wings.”

  He looked away, trying to make sense of the things he, himself, barely understood. Trying to make her understand. “It’s like you’re reaching back, trying to pull the rest of us forward.” He thought a moment. “You deserve everything anyone can do. People have tried. Darvon. Me. Satori, Willet. Now Nani and even your friend, Bianca. You have support because you deserve support, Jessica. Don’t ever doubt that you deserve it. Don’t doubt that.”

  The sudden intensity of his admiration was more than she could bear.

  But the absolute tenderness of the glimmer in his eye, on the face of such a powerful man—a super man—one who would fight the world for her, and had and was openly making his declaration to continue to do so, made her heart break. Here he was, trying to make her understand what she meant to him—when he likely only partly knew what he meant to her —so much!—and, frustratingly, she could think of nothing to say. Nothing that would touch him the way he touched her.

  Nothing that would tell him how deeply she loved him.

  And suddenly she was lying naked in the tub. The nervousness she’d expected to feel came crashing in on her now. It was sudden, it was strong, and there was nothing she could do. Right there, right there in front of him, no way to rise up and hide, no way to turn or cover up, no way tactfully to ask him to leave—especially now that he was sitting there so comfortably at her invitation. She was dirty, she was ugly, and he was right there, an arm’s reach away, leaning over the tub, talking calmly. For him nothing had changed. No realization had come over him. She’d invited him in and he came and there he sat.

  She swallowed. Worked to corral these suddenly embarrassing thoughts, heartache turning to a flutter of nerves, hoping he wouldn’t notice the change.

  “I sometimes wonder myself,” she said, hoping to talk her way through it. “I know my life, how I grew up. It’s kind of hard to fit that image with what I’ve become. I mean, am I destined for this? Am I meant to be a savior? And a savior of what? So far all I’ve done is run around and mess things up. I mean, if I’m supposed to be here, if I’m supposed to be doing something … what is it?

  “Is this part of some plan laid down by a priestess a thousand years ago? Am I the agent—the angel—of her prophecy? There’s no doubt I’ve managed to get myself into the middle of something.”

  The tub was cooling off. Still warm, but no longer the soothing heat of moments ago. Dirt and pond remains had spread out, remnants of makeup, until the water was now a light, sooty gray. And right there beneath it, clearly visible, was all of her.

  Now the moment was thoroughly awkward. She wanted to get out.

  Rather than blurt a sudden request, however, she stared at him a little longer, tried to be calm, tried to recreate the earlier tenderness. Then, after what seemed the right amount of time, asked: “Can you bring me the towel? I think I’ll get out. The water is getting cold.”

  He rose and went across the room to get it, eyes shifting from her face to his objective without so much as a glance to anything else. He was definitely being a gentleman.

  She watched intently as he padded away, across the tile floor in his bare, muddy feet, Italian slacks torn and dirty, the shreds of the shirt he’d worn at the club in equally bad shape.

  Hugging the curves of his muscular back.

  And as he reached the towel hanging on the hook, in full view across the room, head to toe, another feeling surged. A brand new feeling, entirely displacing the nervous desire to run and hide, or even the previous desire to be pure and open before him. Something else altogether.

  It was the desire to grab him and drag him into the tub. Right then, right now, and she had to catch her breath as the powerful urge swept through her with a sudden, fierce shudder she could barely conceal.

  Then he was on his way back, eyes politely raised, towel in hand. He extended it for her to take, turned as she did and headed for the door without so much as a glance back.

  “The master bedroom is across the hall,” he spoke as he left. “I’ve got a fire going. I found some clothes.”

  And he was gone.

  After a long hesitation, during which she worked to get her mind on track, she rose, shakily; unsteady shakes that accelerated with the shivers that gripped her in the cold air. Outside the sun was rising toward late morning but nothing had warmed. At least not that she could tell.

  It wouldn’t have mattered. The cold air on her soaked skin was only exacerbating the thrill racing through her.

  She patted herself dry and wrapped the towel around her, all the way up, over her shoulders, under her chin. It was a big one, like a beach towel, thick and soft. It smelled a little musty but she held it clenched about her and pushed it up to her face until the shivers steadied and she was still. She stepped from the tub, cold air on her shins and ankles, cold tiles beneath her feet. Steadily she splat-splatted across the slippery floor, out to the hall and onto the worn carpet, feet drying as she walked.

  Firelight shone from the master bedroom and she walked to it. It was the next door up, and as she turned into the room she found Zac kneeling, tending a fireplace. A big fireplace, even for a big room, rising nearly halfway up one wall. The fire in it crackled with soothing heat that could be felt from the doorway.

  He looked up, using one of the iron rods to push a few blazing logs around. And for some reason, as he did, she had another of those “Zac” moments, wondering if he even needed to use the rod. He could no doubt just adjust the logs by hand. She already knew he was fireproof. Maybe it was just easier to use the rod. Certainly it made him seem more human.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he returned.

  The exchange felt shy. She was already back to feeling nervous, the harsh blast of irresistible lust fizzled.

  She entered. Stepping from the carpeted hall the wooden floor of the room was warm from the fire, the whole space giving off an immensely soothing vibe. Zac had obviously worked hard to make it comfortable. She could see some of the clanking and banging, in addition to starting the fire, must’ve come from the fixing of the bed, the placing of new sheets, the drawing of curtains and his other efforts to create a relaxing space for her to rest.

  She was deeply touched. And smitten all over again. Kneeling by the fire, all he’d done, all his concern …

  “Obviously we shouldn’t stay long,” he said, poking the logs, “but you need to take a few minutes and recharge. Sleep if you can. I know you’re not ready talk about what we need to do, and maybe now’s not the time, but you need at least a few minutes. Rest, then we’ll figure it out.”

  But she just stood there, halfway in the room, huge towel hugged around her, covering her from chin to knees, naked beneath, watching him.

  Not moving.

 
Not daring.

  Much of her exhaustion seemed to have left her.

  He rose, satisfied with the fire, went to the bed and turned it down. He’d even covered the pillows with lacy cases.

  When she continued to just stand there he sat on the edge and looked across the room at her.

  “I know sleep is probably the last thing on your mind,” he said, and she wondered if he had any idea what was actually on her mind. She looked for signs as he continued: “You’re driven,” he added. “I know. But please, for me.” He patted the bed beside him. “Please just let yourself rest. Just a little. I won’t let anything happen while you do.”

  She wavered; nervous—so nervous—head buzzing with a million thoughts. Outwardly calm, inwardly in turmoil …

  And all at once was above it.

  The buzz continued, there was no doubt of that. She could hear it. Conversations flying around inside her skull. Doubts. Fears. Nothing was silenced. Yet …

  She was above it. Drifting, in a sense, out of that inner conflict, all the way to … inner calm. A center. A place from which everything finally made sense. A place where there were no more doubts. A place where the contemplation of that which did, in fact, make absolute sense and which she would, in fact, do, gave her a deep, shuddering thrill.

  Unsticking herself she made her way to the bed, slower than she might’ve walked otherwise, deliberate in her steps though not exactly a sultry, sexy walk. Enough, however, so it should’ve been clear by then what she had in mind.

  Somehow she thought it probably was.

  Zac sat at the edge of the bed. Watching her. Waiting. She reached him and stepped close, then closer. Right into the V between his knees, brushing his legs apart with hers and stepping all the way up against him; looking down over the top of her towel, directly into his upturned face. He in turn looked up into her sensual gaze and … swallowed.