Few Are Angels

by Inger Iversen

  The Council was close on his heels. He and his men had reduced their numbers, but they remained quite bothersome. He never understood why their leader would not create more Immortals, as he had done. His brand of Immortals was vastly different than himself and the Council. He’d found a great use in half-breed vampires, or Chorý, even though they were not as powerful as a pure blood. They were still physically challenging to the younger Eternals. Ancient Eternals such as himself and the leader of the Council could crush a half-breed without breaking a sweat. Because they were not accepted by their own kind and unable to inform humans of their existence, half-breeds were very easy to control, especially when rewarded with acceptance.

  The Dark Prince returned to his room and closed the balcony door. Darke, the first in command in his arsenal of Chorý, waited for him in the office. The Dark Prince removed his coat and placed it gently on the chair in front of Darke. He wouldn’t invite the man to sit. He wouldn’t provide even that small comfort until his job was completed.

  “News?” he demanded.

  Darke bowed his head and placed his arms at his sides. “Sir, we have tracked her to a city called Virginia Beach, but she is no longer there. We searched her home, and though it’s still furnished, it looks abandoned. It’s because of her parents’ demise that we believe her connection to you had begun.”

  The Dark Prince already knew the cause of the initial connection, and he would use that to his advantage once he found her, but curiosity didn't allow him to remain silent. “What has become of the girl?”

  “She was sent to a facility for the mentally insane, sir.”

  “What?” the Dark Prince bellowed. Surprised at his own outburst, he calmed himself and sat.

  The Dark Prince had chosen Darke to lead his men because of his fearlessness and vicious battle tactics. Darke’s discomfort didn't go unrecognized by Laurent.

  Darke shifted his stance and cleared his throat before he continued. “Sir, if I may? This could be good for you. She may feel alone at a time such as this and need only for someone to accept her.”

  There were times that the half-vampire was of more use to him than he’d like to admit. The girl would be an outcast amongst her own kind. He would exploit that insecurity as he had done to so many others—it would be perfect. Illiana had once called him ‘gentle devil’ because of his ability to lead an opponent to their death while pretending to cushion the fall. Suddenly, the air around him was thick with the scent of roses and sandalwood. It was her scent. Each Arc had a unique scent. The new Arc’s essence was delectable. The aroma of roses was light and innocent while the sandalwood was as strong and fierce as her power.

  “Leave!” Laurent commanded. He could feel her now as she relived a memory. “I will inform you of the results of this current connection and give you your new orders.”

  Darke bowed and left the room.

  The connection grew stronger as she moved deeper into the memory. He would feed off it and use it to locate her. His body hummed with so much electricity he had to stand. There was no pain in the connection on his end—just pure energy. The emotion he felt from her fueled his need for power. In the past, he’d learned that she couldn't feel the connection as he could. She would be too immersed in the memory, and its subsequent malaise, to notice how close to his mind she came. It was a risk on his part every time, but she had no knowledge of him and so was powerless against him.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  Both expectations and memories are more than mere images founded on previous experience. —Samuel Alexander

  * * *

  My roommate Clara calls for the doctor after I collapse during a vision, even though I beg her—through clenched teeth—not to. I can’t blame her. She thinks I am dying, and the first time it happened, I believed the same. I know that it will pass and that I have to endure it. As I lay on the floor in my own vomit, I know that I’m not dying, but the after effects of the hallucinations are getting worse. Pushing the thought away, I tell myself that things will get better. The doctor sits at my side and pats my head as though I am a sick dog that he is plagued with the duty of putting down. My body feels as if it’s torn apart inside, and my eyes burn like fire. Nurse Laura stands above me, a large needle in her mahogany hand. She looks none too pleased to be in my room at three o’clock in the morning.

  “Ella?” The doctor speaks so close to my ear that I flinch. I lie in the fetal position, facing the door. The doctor is at my back, on his knees. He fears that this is a more serious case than he guessed. I think at the beginning, he thought I made everything up for attention. “Ella, I would like to move you now. I am going to call Anthony and tell him to bring a stretcher now that we know that your fall didn’t cause any injury.”

  I know where he is going to take me, and I don’t want to go. The observation room is where you go when you need to be watched, even during your downtime. I move to get up, but Dr. Lithe uses his other hand to push me back down.

  “Now, now, Ella, it’s okay. Let’s just wait for Anthony.”

  As the doctor instructs Nurse Laura to make the call for Anthony, I lie on the floor, watching as the real crazies exit their rooms to peer into mine. They look at me with confusion in their eyes, and some of them applaud. I have no clue why they clap as if I am lying in my own vomit as a protest to our treatment, but they continue to clap and whistle. I can feel the doctor’s eyes on me, and I know they are filled with disappointment. He thought I was an easy case, seventy-two hours in and out, but I am proving him wrong.

  As my strength comes back, I am able to move without feeling as if I will throw up again. I turn my head to face the doctor. “Can I get up?” These are my first words since Nurse Laura and the doctor entered the room. I’m starting to become more aware of the vomit, and it’s making me sick. “I’m fine now. I promise.”

  The doctor appears to weigh my words and reject them.

  At this point, I know I am staying here for longer than seventy-two hours. And as I whisper to myself, I know that nothing else I say from now on will carry as much weight as the ones I speak next. “I think I am going to die. This is going to kill me.”

  I can see in the doctor’s eyes that he hears my words, but the flicker of acknowledgement is here and gone in a second.

  ***

  I woke up in bed, the mid-afternoon sun shining brightly through the curtains. My eyes burned. My body felt bruised and broken, but considerably better than when I was lying on the floor. My throat was dry, and I wanted water, but I didn’t trust my legs to work properly, so I lay there wondering what Eric was going to say when he came back. This would be the second time he found me passed out on the floor. I was sure that there would be some sort of consequence. After a few more minutes, I decided to test my legs and cautiously threw one foot over the bed and to the floor. My legs ached from the tensing and relaxing of my muscles earlier, but I was able to stand and fight off the last of the lightheadedness.

  Before I could take one step toward the bathroom, Kale walked into the room and stood in front of me. His eyes were dark and empty as he stared at me. I couldn’t tell whether he was going to stay or go. I fought the urge to run into his arms and bawl. I still felt some of the haunting effects of Hélène’s emotions for him. Or were they my own? He looked like the same Kale from the hallucination, and I kicked myself for missing it before, but that was impossible—right? I made a noise that unnerved me—a strangled cry that lodged itself in my throat—and said that I would surrender everything to whomever or whatever would come and demand it of me. A normal life shouldn’t be so hard to obtain He wore no expression, but I knew he knew more than he had told me over the past two days about me and my “memories,” as he called them.

  Kale held a cup in his hand, and the liquid called to me, but I didn’t move to take the cup. Instead, I fell back onto the bed. Kale mistook this for fainting and moved to my side in a blur of speed. Normally, I would have questioned his ability to move so fast, but my b
rain was still a little fuzzy—or I just didn’t care. When he finally spoke, I closed my eyes and allowed his voice to wrap around me—so deep and masculine, but also warm and captivating. I took a deep breath. Kale’s scent was so overwhelming that it coated the back of my dry throat. He had to repeat himself because I wasn’t listening to the words, just the melodic tones that escaped his mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes to see him standing directly over me, still holding the cup. When I glanced at it, he handed it to me and motioned for me to sit up as I drank. He pulled on my elbow to help me. His grip was firm, but soft enough that he wouldn’t bruise my skin, and I could feel his veiled power. His presence alone gave off an air of power, yet there were moments when he seemed timeworn. He took a step back and looked around. I wanted to be embarrassed by the pastel yellow walls, lace curtains, and flowery duvet, but somehow I knew that Kale didn't think it was my style. Sarah had redecorated the room when she' found out I’d be staying with them. I felt his familiarity with me even if he didn't show it. I gulped down the water and nearly choked.

  “Easy.” Kale took the glass from me. “I’ll get some more.” He disappeared out of the room before I could voice my concerns about Eric, but when I looked at the clock, I realized that everyone was long gone. I must have been out for at least three hours. Kale was back in a matter of seconds with more water. He eyed me suspiciously from across the room, and my heart hurt because of the distance he kept from me. I thought back to Hélène and the letter he’d left her, and felt the sting of tears. Who was she to Kale?

  “Who is Hélène?” I asked, surprised that I could find my voice, let alone the courage to ask him such a question.

  He didn’t look surprised. He sat down in the chair by my desk, and his leather jacket made soft noises against the back of the chair as he sank into it. He felt a million miles away. He wore all black, and his pale skin shone against the stark black fabric. His dark eyes gleamed in the rays of light that shown through the bay window. He was beautiful, with sharp features that fit him perfectly, and lips that would mold effortlessly with mine. “Was.” He paused as if stuck in a memory. His eyes were distant, and I worried that he wouldn’t continue. Kale expelled a breath and ran his hand through his dark hair. A normal gesture, yet incredibly sexy. “She died long ago.”

  I knew that she couldn’t have been alive. I wasn’t sure the memory I’d had was even from this century. “Dead,” I whispered. I let his words sink in. He’d called them memories.

  He didn’t respond. His eyes clouded with pain and maybe guilt or even anger—I couldn’t tell.

  “Why do I see her? Why do I feel what she feels?” I could feel my anger growing. “Why is she killing me?” Bitterness edged my voice.

  His expression was quizzical. I thought I’d said something wrong, but I’d only stated the truth. With every memory, it felt as if a piece of me died—soon there would be nothing left.

  “Killing you?” Kale stood and abruptly stopped speaking .

  I was surprised by his outburst, but how he could have an opinion? He didn’t know what the visions did to me.

  Kale seemed to arrange his thoughts. “She can’t kill you, Ella. She is already dead and has been for a while.” Kale looked flustered, and I could tell that he regretted his words. He headed toward the door. “Look, are you okay now? I have to go.”

  I wasn’t sure what had happened between Kale and me in that one sentence. I felt better from the after-effects of the vision—or was it a memory?—and the question that I should have asked the second I saw him popped into my head.

  “Wait, why are you here?” I didn’t want to seem unappreciative—better Kale find me than Eric—but I wondered how he’d known to come. Kale looked guilty, and I decided not to apologize for sounding unappreciative. He’d broken into my house. “How did you know to come here?”

  “I knew that you needed me.”

  I could tell that there was more to it, and I wondered if I’d be able to get the truth out of him. The mysterious-boy routine held an air of sexiness, but it started to get on my nerves. My little breakthrough prompted more questions, questions I should have asked earlier.

  “Huh? And how do you know Hélène? She was in my hallucination, but you weren’t.” I hoped he could hear the suspicion in my voice.

  Kale stood against the door, arms crossed, and remained silent.

  I rolled my eyes—men! “Oh, so now you don’t want to talk?” I asked sardonically.

  “Ella.” His voice was mournful, but with a small hint of hope. Hope for what, I didn’t know, but I planned to figure out. “If we go down this road, there is no turning back.” He held me in a chilling stare.

  I questioned whether my belief that Kale wasn’t a danger to me was as reliable as I wished to believe. I wanted to know more about him, but more than that, I wanted to know what he knew about me and why I was plagued with thoughts of death and loss of love. Sometimes the emotions would hit so hard that I would cry for days, mourning the loss of someone I’d loved—except I’d never even been in love. The pain seemed to be seeded so deep inside me that it had to have been there long before my mother and father died.

  “Tell me. Please. I can’t keep doing this,” I pleaded. “Seeing her die, I think I am going crazy, but it feels so real and you…” I looked at him and, for the first time, saw longing in his eyes. “I know you, but then again, I don’t. I know what it’s like to kiss you, but you always seem to stay at least three feet away from me. I know what it feels like to lose you, but you’ve never been mine.” I let my tears fall freely. My heart was ripping from longing and fear—fear that all of this was in my head, that the past few days weren’t real—including Kale.

  He stepped closer to me, reaching up to wipe my tears. I shuddered as his cool skin made contact with mine, and my body responded to his touch as if it had waited a thousand years for his caress. I released a breath I wasn’t aware that I was holding and my lungs relaxed, allowing my heart to slow. Kale sighed and pulled his hand away, pain etched so deep in his face that it seemed he could wear it forever—a tattoo of suffering and longing.

  “I am trying to protect you, Ella. He hasn’t found you yet, and I think I can stop him from finding you, but I can’t do this with you right now. I just can’t.”

  I didn’t understand how someone I’d known for only two days could possess my heart, but he had accomplished it. “Protect me,” I said.

  Kale sat on the bed beside me. I couldn't think of anything to say. I was content, though I knew it would be short-lived. I’d gotten things off my chest, and Kale hadn’t looked at me as if I were a basket case. I wanted to sit there longer, but the heat was working overtime, and I started to sweat. On top of that, my stomach cried out in a low rumbling growl, and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I stood up and headed to the door. I looked over my shoulder and motioned for Kale to follow.

  In the kitchen, I offered Kale everything we had to eat and drink, but he refused. His refusal to eat or drink made me question my assumption that he was homeless, especially since he was well-dressed and smelled amazing. I made myself some minestrone soup and ate as he wandered around the kitchen, looking at pictures and awards Sarah and Eric had placed on the walls and mantel. I stole glances at him over my soup bowl. He moved smoothly, pausing at pictures of vacations at the lodge and weekend cookouts. They were sentimental pictures, and I wanted to ask him about his family, but I didn't. He could’ve been in the same situation as I was, with dead parents and memories he didn't want to relive. When he caught me looking at him, he smirked and sauntered over to me.

  “What?” His sooty hair fell into his eyes as he leaned on the dining room table.

  Daringly, I reached up and moved the sable locks of hair away. He didn’t flinch or move away.

  “Why do I have these memories, as you call them? After my parents died and I had the first, I thought that it was just a fluke—nothing serious. But somewhere in
the back of my mind, I knew that it wasn’t over.”

  He sat in the chair and listened. It felt good to talk freely about what had happened and not have to worry that he would lock me away in a room until I got ‘better.’

  “In the last vision I had, I was this girl named Hélène. She was waiting for you to return, but four men in armor came for her instead.”

  Kale looked down at his hands and sighed.

  I felt his pain wrap around me like a sheet and touched his hand to console him. “So it was you she was waiting for. How is that possible? It seemed like it was from another century.”

  “I can help you understand.” He frowned. “There are some things I can’t tell you. I don’t know how to protect you from Laurent. The Council has diminished so much that I worry they won’t be able to stop Laurent, either.”

  Confused, I pushed the bowl away and faced him. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t,” he said with a sad smile. “Maybe if I told you a few things…”

  I took his hand and squeezed. The Council protecting me, and Laurent, all seemed familiar, but not familiar enough that I didn't need him to explain further. What did all of this have to do with the visions that I’d been having? Kale called them memories, and since it seemed like some of what Kale was saying was familiar, I was interested in learning more. I wanted to continue this story without interruption, so I decided to take Kale upstairs in case Sarah or Eric came home. “Let’s go upstairs.” I jumped off of my chair and led him back to my room. I closed the door, made myself comfortable on the bed, and patted the space next to me.