She climbed to her feet and walked to a little stream that worked its way through the trees that edged the field where they sat. Not a stream, really, but more like the runoff from a heavy rain some distance from where they were. It was water running through a crack in the earth that was overflowing with mud and sediment from the field and the trees. Dylan bent low and cupped her hands, taking some of the water and splashing her face with it.
You have to tell him.
Dylan groaned. She looked up, but there was nothing to see even if her view hadn’t been obscured by the trees. And she knew there wouldn’t be.
“Go away,” she called. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
Why not?
She ignored the voice, leaning over the water once more. It wasn’t drinkable: there was too much dirt and junk in it, but it still felt good against her skin. Which brought her thoughts to the immediate future. They needed supplies. All of their things were left behind when Ellie, their friend and companion, had turned on them and forced them to walk into Davida’s camp. Dear, sweet, frightened Ellie. The same Ellie who had pulled a weapon on them, a weapon she used to paralyze Stiles.
Guilt settled heavily on her shoulders as she remembered how quickly, and painfully, he fell to the ground.
“Where are you?” she asked.
He immediately materialized beside her, leaning against a tree in that cocky way he had. His red hair was so bright it was almost unnatural, and it set off his pale skin in such a way that it had been easy to believe he was a gargoyle. No else could possibly have pale skin like that and be normal. But even that had been a lie.
She looked him up and down, telling herself she was searching for wounds or some other side effect of the weapon Ellie had used. But, in truth, she was really just happy to see him. Happier than she should have been.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she wet her face one last time before standing, drying her hands on the front of her pants.
“Fine,” he said with a soft smile.
“Have you been hovering over us all this time?”
“When I wasn’t watching over Sam and trying to figure out what Davida has planned.”
“Did you know?” Dylan asked. “Did you know that Davida worked for Luc and Lily?”
He tilted his head slightly, as though trying to decide how best to answer her. “I knew she had a special interest in you. That’s why I was there, in Genero, all that time. Watching over you.”
“But did you know she worked with Lily?”
Stiles studied her face. “Dylan, it doesn’t really matter—”
“It matters to me.” She moved toward him, angry with herself as tears began to form in her eyes. She pushed at his shoulder, knocked him out of his cocky stance. “She was my guardian. If you knew—”
“I knew,” he said, gripping her arms just below her shoulders so that she couldn’t move away. Or, maybe, so that she couldn’t hit him. “And I made sure she couldn’t hurt you.”
“What do you call what just happened?” she demanded, trying to jerk free but aware that there was little point. Stiles was much stronger than she would ever be. “What do you call her luring us to her so that Lily could come and take me away?”
“I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“You’re an angel. Don’t you know everything?”
He laughed, a soft sound that made her want to join him. If she wasn’t still so angry. She felt…betrayed. She jerked her arms again. This time he let her go. She stumbled backwards and nearly fell into the little stream of water.
“I trusted you,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Dylan,” he said, reaching for her again, but she was already halfway up the small incline that separated them from the grassy field where she had left Wyatt. He was there, leaning against a tree on the far side with his arms crossed, looking so much like a darker version of Stiles that it was almost unnerving. He was annoyed, she could tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes as he watched her walk toward him. But annoyance turned into surprise when she marched up to him and then continued on, marching out the other side of the field.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Away from the two of you,” she answered.
Wyatt came after her. Joined Stiles as he continued to rush after her, too. She ignored them, walking faster so that they would have to rush to catch up with her.
She’d had enough. She really didn’t want to talk to either of them. Wyatt wanted to know things she couldn’t explain to him. And Stiles knew things he felt he didn’t need to share with her.
And these were the two who were supposed to help her stop the total destruction of the human race?
God help them all.
“Dylan, what’s going on?”
It was Wyatt. He caught up with her and grabbed her arm just above the elbow. She jerked away, nearly freeing herself, but then she began to fall forward and Wyatt had to grab her shoulder to keep her from falling completely. She spun toward him the moment she was back on her feet and pushed him away.
“I don’t want you touching me,” she said.
Wyatt stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him. “No problem,” he said.
Dylan took several steps backward, putting a little more distance between them. “I don’t know what the two of you expect from me,” she said. “I don’t know how any of this works any more than you,” she said, gesturing toward Wyatt. Then she turned to Stiles before adding, “And I can’t do anything about this damn war if you don’t tell me everything I need to know.”
“Dylan,” Stiles began to say, but stopped when she turned toward him.
“No more lies,” she said. Her eyes slipped over him, over his familiar gray eyes, on the sadness that always seemed to be there. Always. Except for the split second before he kissed her. It was gone then. Or maybe she just hadn’t seen it. Or she hadn’t wanted to see it.
He spread his hands out in front of him too, imitating Wyatt in a smaller, less angry way. “No more lies,” he agreed.
“What lies?” Wyatt asked. “What are you talking about?”
“He knew about Davida,” Dylan said, waving her hand at Stiles. “He knew what and who she was all this time, and he didn’t tell us.”
Wyatt turned on Stiles. “You knew she was working for Luc and Lily?”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “But—”
Wyatt didn’t wait to hear Stiles’ excuse. He swung low and fast, punching Stiles in the gut and followed it up immediately with a fist under Stiles’ jaw as his head came down in response to the first hit. He flew backward, landing hard on his bottom in the grass. But Wyatt didn’t stop there. He charged after Stiles, yelling at him to get up even as he landed a few well-placed kicks to Stiles’ ribs.
“Stop!”
Dylan grabbed Wyatt’s arm and pulled him back. “You have to stop,” she said. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”
“When did you find out?” he demanded, turning his anger on her.
“Just now.” She let go of him and stepped back. “Do you really think I would have let Ellie walk us into that park if I knew the truth?”
Wyatt studied her face for a long second. “Did Joanna tell you?”
“This has nothing to do with Joanna,” Stiles said as he slowly picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his pants. “I don’t think she even knew about Dylan until you delivered her to Viti.”
“I didn’t deliver her to Viti.”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “You were misled. I forget.”
Wyatt turned on Stiles again. Dylan thought they were going to come to blows once more, but Wyatt stopped just short of raising his fist. “As I recall, you were along for that ride,” he said to Stiles.
“And I told her over and over not to trust you.”
“Did you?” Wyatt asked, his voice suddenly low, cold. “Funny. I told her the same thing about you.”
“I know.” Stiles stepped back a little
, again fussing over the dust on the back of his pants. “Too bad she didn’t listen to either of us.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m not standing right here,” Dylan said.
Stiles looked over at her, again that sadness so clear in his eyes. Wyatt didn’t turn. His attention was stuck on Stiles, tension so tight in his shoulders Dylan thought he might give himself an injury if he didn’t relax soon.
“We don’t have time for this,” she finally said. “We have to get out of here before Davida and her people figure out that we’re still in their backyard.”
“And go where?” Wyatt asked.
“To find your dad.”
He turned then, the tension only growing as he studied her. “You saw him,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”
“So you’re just going to give up?”
Wyatt threw his hands up in the air. “What can we do?”
“We can go get him. Joanna said—”
“I don’t care what she had to say.”
“Wyatt, she was trying to help.”
“Joanna?” Stiles walked toward them, coming to a stop just behind Wyatt’s shoulder. “Where did you see Joanna?”
“What’s it to you?” Wyatt asked, glaring over his shoulder at Stiles before he moved around Dylan and walked a little farther up the clear line of the field to the road that sat just a few yards ahead.
Stiles came to Dylan and took hold of her shoulders. “Did you see Joanna?”
He seemed so concerned that Dylan found herself wondering what Stiles’ relationship with her might be. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand away from her shoulder and sliding her fingers between his.
“Why?” she asked.
“She’s been missing since the day you met her.”
Dylan glanced back at Wyatt. He had come to a stop at the edge of the weed-choked road. He was facing away from them, but, again, Dylan recognized the tension in his shoulders. He was listening despite everything he had said. He wanted to know about his mother even though he was angry at her deception.
“She was in the same place as Jimmy. She called it Luc’s prison, the place where he takes humans to be tried after they’re caught by the Redcoats.”
Stiles’ face lost what little color it had held. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.” Dylan glanced back at Wyatt again before she lowered her voice and said, “She also told me that they were about to execute Jimmy.”
Stiles squeezed Dylan’s hand, a gesture that wasn’t meant to be comforting. In fact, it hurt quite a bit. His gaze fell from her face to the ground at their feet. Reflexively, Dylan ran her hand over the back of his head, touching the silkiness of his hair with a caress that reminded her again of the kiss they had shared just a day before. In some ways, it felt like such a long time ago. In others, it felt as close as though it had just happened.
“We have to go get them,” Stiles said to the ground.
“We don’t have any supplies.” Dylan ran her hand over his head a second time, her own doubts and fears beginning to take root in her chest. Fears that mirrored those she imagined Wyatt was struggling with. “And I don’t know where the prison is. Joanna didn’t say.”
“I do,” Stiles said.
“Where?” Wyatt said so close to her ear Dylan jumped. She took her hand from Stiles’ head, pulled her other from his grasp. He looked up at her, understanding mixing with the perpetual sadness in his eyes. It only served to make her feel guilty. Of what, she wasn’t quite sure.
She turned slightly, drawing Wyatt into their little circle. He no longer seemed angry, no longer seemed ready to explode. She touched his arm, and he didn’t pull away. He only stood there beside her, his body rigid, and watched Stiles.
“You know so much about everything,” he said, his words sporting sharp edges. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about her, about this place Luc is holding them.”
“You already know all about it, Wyatt,” Stiles said. In complete contrast, Stiles’ voice was filled with an unnerving calm. He touched Wyatt too, laying a hand on his shoulder much like he had done to Dylan a moment ago. “Your father taught you all about it. Taught you to watch for kids coming from there.”
Wyatt stepped back just a single step, but it was enough to make it clear he was shocked by what Stiles had said. Dylan was confused. She had no idea what they were talking about and felt as though she was eavesdropping on an inside joke, something she was never intended to understand. It wasn’t until both boys looked at her that she realized she should have understood, that they had expected her to.
“Genero,” Wyatt said.
Stiles nodded.
Genero.
Chapter 4
Dylan was born and raised in Genero.
Dylan had been taught that Genero, a domed city, was begun by a couple of sisters who had sought a way to rebuild society in the aftermath of a devastating war. They began with a dome that was no bigger than a small room. But as people found them, as more people joined their small society, the dome grew until it was the beautiful, love filled city it was now.
Once abandoned in the desert by the council of Genero, Dylan discovered that it was all a lie.
Genero was actually a laboratory, a place where scientists working for the angels were creating hybrids, children with both human and angel DNA, in order to create a child who could help cure the illness created to destroy the angels. Most of the girls there—Dylan had no idea how it had gone for the boys because the boys and girls of Genero were kept separate to avoid any contamination of the gene pool—showed no special abilities, no proof that the hybrid combination had worked. Those who did show abilities were taken into the Administration building for testing. Their DNA was often used to create more hybrid children. But Genero and its children had never shown any promise of discovering the perfect combination of genetics needed to do whatever it was they wanted in order to cure the illness.
Until Dylan.
Dylan was the first to come out of Genero with all the right abilities, all the promise for a cure they had been looking for. But, thanks to Stiles, her abilities remained hidden until she was sent out into the desert to die. That was how Genero took care of the children they didn’t want. They sent them into the desert and allowed them to die. Dylan would have died, too, if not for Stiles. And then Wyatt.
And now they wanted her to go back.
“Why would he take them to Genero?”
Stiles glanced at Wyatt as though gauging his emotional state before he answered. “It’s where they take the humans they find so that they can take whatever DNA they might need. And, sometimes, they use them as…incubators.”
“Incu…what?”
“They use the women to carry the children,” Wyatt said, his voice impatient. “He means that they use them to make the hybrids.”
“Like me?” she asked. “Like me and Donna and the others?”
“Yes,” Stiles said.
She shook her head, her knees going weak as she tried not to consider the implications of it. She remembered a woman she had seen on testing day, a woman whose voice had screamed inside her head, a woman who asked her to save someone…a boy. Dylan hadn’t understood what the woman meant. She had never heard the pronoun the woman had used: him. Now she knew. Now she recognized that the swelling of the woman’s belly had been a baby she was carrying. She hadn’t known that then. None of it had made sense, not like it did now. She shivered at the memory.
“They use angels, too.”
It wasn’t a question. She knew it to be true. That woman had spoken to her without using her mouth, had known that Dylan could hear her. Humans couldn’t do that.
“Yes,” Stiles said again.
Dylan shook her head, a part of her realizing why Joanna was there, why she was still alive. Urgency filled her body like a physical thing in her chest, her limbs. “We have to go,” she said, stepping backward and beginning to rush toward the road.
&
nbsp; “Wait,” Wyatt said. “We can’t go there.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “They are your parents, Wyatt.”
“I know.” He turned to look at her. “But we can’t take you to a place where all the people are loyal to Luc and Lily. It would be like walking into their chamber in Viti.”
“He’s right,” Stiles agreed. “It would be stupid to take you there.”
“But we can’t just leave Joanna there.”
“Why not?” Wyatt asked. “After the lies she told you, I would have thought you would be more than willing to walk away and leave her to her fate.”
Dylan stared at him, finding it difficult to believe what he had said. But also finding it difficult to disagree. She had showed Wyatt everything she had seen the day she met his mother. All the lies she had told him about her origins, about her faked death. It had also included information Joanna accidentally showed her as they fled her home just in front of Luc and his invading legion. The death and destruction Joanna and others like her wanted to use on the earth in a desperate attempt to save the human race.
Joanna had said she wanted to teach Dylan so that she could make her own decisions about this war she found herself a pawn in, the war between the angels, the gargoyles, and the few remaining humans. But it had all been a lie. Joanna and her kind simply wanted to use Dylan as a weapon.
A huge, destructive weapon.
“I’m not like her,” Dylan said quietly. “I can’t just walk away, knowing where she is and what her future will be.”
Wyatt shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you should risk your life for her.”
“Wyatt and I can go alone,” Stiles said. “I’ll bring Sam here to stay with you.”
“Oh, we trust Sam now, do we?” Dylan asked. “After he worked with Ellie all that time?”
“He didn’t know what he was doing,” Stiles said.
“How do we know that?” Wyatt asked. “He seemed to know.”
Stiles looked at Dylan. “I don’t suppose you could just trust me on this, could you?”
FALLEN (Angels and Gargoyles Book 3) Page 2
