Alex
* * *
I grab Mia and run to the far end of my yard. After eighteen years of living here, I know all the spots where we won’t be seen from the yard. Dudes are out there fighting like they’re in Afghanistan, and while Mia and I hide, I look around for Ella. There are probably ten men out there, and oddly enough, it seems like they are trying not to draw attention to themselves. Why would they want to keep this quiet? I look around, confused and amazed by the fact Ella told us the truth. If these were the people after her, what did she have that they wanted? I feel ashamed that I didn't believe her. I've known her so long, and I can’t remember one lie from her mouth.
“Do you see her?” Mia whispers as tears stream down her face. She is holding her arm and I can see the blood as it drips past the opening of her coat.
I pull Mia closer and throw her an apologetic glance as she winces from the jolt of pain that movement sends through her. I pull up her sleeve to see a wound that looks like something hot tore through her. I haven’t seen many wounds in my time, but it looks like someone has shot her. Though I didn't hear a gunshot, I am willing to bet that’s what it is. I can’t tell Mia this because I am afraid she will have a meltdown if I do.
I look out to the yard again, but I don’t see Ella anywhere. Jace stands above a man that has gone down for the count while another man stands above him with a large sword in hand. It seems like shit just got real. I cover Mia’s face and purse my lips. I have to keep it together and try not to hurl. I know if I freak out, Mia’s reaction will be worse. I see that the guy Ella was hugging before all this went down is out there now fighting with Jace. It amazes me how fast he moves; the dude can’t be a regular person. He must have some special training, but he looks way too young to have served in the military long enough to be so skilled.
“No, I don’t see her anywhere,” I tell Mia. I push her back against the shed. If I saw what I think I just saw, then she would definitely freak out.
Heads don’t come off bodies by themselves. She and I could die out here tonight. I need to find a way to get her into the house and away from this. I still don’t tell Mia what I saw, but I am sure she can see it on my face. She looks as if she is about to pass out. Even though Ella is missing and I want to find her, I have no choice but to stay until I get Mia into the house. I look back and notice the lights are on in Lea’s room. I strain to see if I can see her through the window. I can’t, and that is good because I don’t want them turning their sights onto my house and my family. I pull my cell phone from my pocket, pissed I didn’t think of it before, and attempt to call the sheriff, but I don’t have a signal.
“Mia, give me your cell.” I tell her mine isn’t working and she admits she left hers upstairs in my old room and begins to ball.
Her tears and her breath are so warm that I worry she is sending fog into the air that could give away our position, so I pull her close and whisper reassurances in her ear. I tell her things I hope are true. I tell her my parents probably already called for help and we should be okay. Though I am not sure if I say it to ease her fears or my own. Cedar is a small town, but I haven’t had a problem getting a cell signal. I bet these men have gone so far as to use cell jammers. It seems so unreal. The men are now at a standoff, staring at each other. I think Jace has figured something out, but I’m not sure I want to know what it is. His face is pale and I can sense his concern all the way over here; it must have something to do with Ella. I hope any second now my father will burst through the door with the shotgun his father left him and order us into the house, but the longer Mia and I sit in the snow, I realize it will not happen. She is crying so hard now that her entire body trembles and she no longer feels warms in my arms. I need to get her inside.
The fact that I still don’t hear sirens worries me, but I don’t let that stop me from devising a plan. With all of those dudes out there, it shouldn’t be hard for Mia and I to run to the door. The only problem is that if these men have a cell phone jammer, they have probably already cut the telephone wires, and the only way to get help is to get to the car and drive to Sheriff Making’s house. The car is behind all the men, and my only hope is to get Mia inside, come back out here, then get to the car. At least inside my father’s shotgun is loaded and ready. I only wonder what is going on in the house.
Jace
* * *
I count the seconds until I see her. Her heart-shaped face, coffee hair, and emerald eyes so innocent, yet so important to the destruction of the man I aim to kill. She is the one who will save us all. Until now, I approached her with a gentleness that must end. She doesn’t know what she is up against, and it is my job to educate her. I will be the bad guy, and she will regret trusting me. I have lied to her more than she knows, and the truth will break her. Her trust and faith in the Council will be gone, but this is a risk I’m willing to take. What is her trust worth when in the end her death is mine as well? Something isn’t right. Laurent’s men are too calm. I have fought in battles with Chorý many times before, and they are nothing if not bold and vicious like wild animals, but now they are calm. They wait for something, and I realize they are stalling for time. We may have played right into their hands. Because we are all here while Ella is in the middle of the woods—alone.
Ella
* * *
I can no longer run, but I can’t remain motionless either. I have to get back to Alex and Mia. Her scream echoes in my brain and rattles my bones. The ground shakes below my feet and I realize the tremors are coming from me. My body quakes as shivers race throughout me. My lungs burn with each breath I take, and I feel like I've swallowed bright orange embers that radiate throughout my chest. I place my hand over my heart, willing it to slow, but it thumps and beats wilder and faster. I’m tempted to sit down, but I can’t because I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stand again. I look around the white trees, a dizzying blur of white, brown, and red. Though I have been moving for a while, I see the same red tree where Kale left me. I squint and look at the red tree again. How is it possible to see the tree again when I thought I’d made some progress forward. Is it possible I’m moving in circles? Did I even move at all? I take a deep breath and swallow the burning sensation and try to think. Kale walked away and I followed him. No, that’s not how it happened. Kale left and I sat down. Or did I fall down? I can’t remember, and my freaking head won’t clear long enough for me to concentrate. I don’t know where I’m at or how long I have been here. It seems as if Kale left me hours ago, but I know that can’t be true. It’s not possible because I wouldn’t survive out here for hours.
Kale’s image floats in front of me, shimmering iridescently, taunting and teasing me with an impossible beauty. His eyes are dark as night and dangerously delicious, his face so pale and teeth so sharp. How I could have ever thought him human? I remember our kiss and how my body responded to his touch. I've never felt that way before, and I yearn to feel it again. My body gravitates toward his image, this perfect image for me and me alone. I take a step toward him, but he moves away, then leans against a tree, staring at me with a spellbound gaze. He is lost in me as I am lost in him. My heart beats so fast I feel its vibrations throughout the tree and I close my eyes. My chest hurts—no, it burns like fire, and each breath is worse than the last, but I manage to continue. My clothes are so heavy they weigh me down.
I push myself away from tree on wobbly knees that try to refuse to bear my weight, but I don’t fall over. I reach for him, for strength, for clarity and stability, but he only stares at me. His smile is sharp and seductive. He wavers, his face thins and turns into plumes of smoke and as he disappears he calls to me. Though his voice is different, it’s familiar—heavier, laced with awe and anticipation. This is the voice I am used to hearing in my head; the one that whispers to me. He reappears somewhere behind me, and though I can’t see him, I feel his heat as it exudes over me in a dense fog. The scent of ash and soot overwhelms me. From the urgency in his voice to the bite of his touc
h, I know this is not Kale. He calls to me, begs for me. He needs me. This is the voice I have carried for so long and it belongs to him. He has found me here where Kale has left me, alone and unarmed. The promise of protection is nothing now that I lay here in the snow, this man above me. I accept it because what choice do I have? It’s my life or theirs, right?
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank those who had faith in me when I didn’t have faith in myself, those who put up with my many mood swings and those who understood me while I was in “hermit” mode.
So, to make this short and sweet I would like to thank my mother and family for their input and patience. My wonderful treehuggin’ boyfriend for putting up with me and my mood swings—trust me it wasn’t easy. I’d like to thank a couple of my favorite authors S.L. Naeole, Jennifer Turner and Shelena Shorts. Their passion, help and advice helped me through times when I wondered if I would ever release this book.
Also, to all of the bloggers that took the time to interview a no-name author like myself, thank you. You honestly make it possible for indie authors to get their name out there when they don’t have an agent or publishing company to advertise for them. You guys are as good any other form of advertising and it seems that at times you word is golden!
To everyone else that had a hand in the process from advice about writing, creating my website and its content to the encouragement and patience, Thank You.
www.ingeriversen.com
About the Author
Kristen Iversen was born to Anne Iversen and Kaii Iversen Sr. on August 22 in Virginia Beach.
I first decided to write when I was eight years old and my mother read a story to me about a princess and a frog. Most little girls swooned over a cute prince and desired to be the princess, whereas I wanted to change the end of the story. I played with my dolls and friends instead of writing and as I grew up I continued to place writing on the back burner. That was until I was 18 and a friend explained to me his desire to write a book. It bought back memories of the eight year old that had a passion to change and create stories, but I still didn’t act on it. Writing was a dream and real life was happening then and there. I was in between jobs and with the recent loss of my father I decided, in a battle of following dreams vs. real life, real life would win hands down. Over the next 10 years I made and lost friends, went to college, changed my major, fell in love, changed my major, dealt with loss, changed my major, fell in love and wrote a short story. That was when I realized that whether or not I was successful or not, I would write and write until I ran out of ideas or loss the use of my fingers.
Few Are Angels Page 28
