SOUL MATES (Angels and Demons Book 3)

by Brenda L. Harper

  Tears began to run down Dylan’s face. She brushed at them angrily, but they continued to fall.

  “I did it for Wyatt.”

  “You did it for humanity. You did it so that we would all have a chance to live a good life, like you did with Wyatt.”

  Dylan shook her head. “Everyone makes me into this selfless person, but that’s not the truth. I did it because I had no choice. I made the angels go home because I needed to be free of the war, I needed to protect Wyatt and Stiles and you and Jimmy. I needed to not lose anyone else I loved.”

  “You might think you did it for selfish reasons, but what you did made this world, this life we’re living right now possible.”

  Dylan rubbed at her cheeks again. “I don’t know if I can keep fighting, not when everyone I love is gone or will be very soon.”

  “You can.”

  She shook her head. “You’ll be gone someday. And Josephine.”

  “But you’ll have Josephine’s child and her children and all the children that will come after them.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  Rachel took Dylan’s hand again, lifting it to her lips to kiss the back of it. “You are the savior. You were born to protect us and to give us the safety we need to live our lives to the best of our abilities. And I think God gave you Wyatt and Josephine all those years to allow you the time to understand what it’s like to live as a human, to have the same fears and struggles as us, but also so that you could feel what it’s like to love with all of your heart and soul, to feel happiness and contentment, and to know security so that you, like Stiles, will want to fight for us.”

  A sob slipped from Dylan’s lips. She moved closer to Rachel and lay her head on her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

  “But that,” Rachel said softly, “is part of what it means to be human.”

  Dylan went back to her room a while later and curled up in the center of the mattress. For the first time in weeks, she fell into a sound sleep. At first, it was a dreamless sleep. But, slowly, images began to fill her mind. She heard a voice, low and soft, that she didn’t know.

  “I can make things better for you. I can make the pain go away.”

  She believed this voice even though, as she turned in her dream, a fog settled around her and she couldn’t see the source. But she believed him. She believed there was life left for her and that she would feel whole again when she heard the promise in that voice.

  “Better things are coming for you, Dylan. You just have to hang on long enough to experience them.”

  Chapter 6

  Stiles was walking through a wooded area in the eastern part of the United Alliance of the Americas’ territory, his boots getting stuck in the mud that seeped up beneath the rotting leaves. Raphael was walking at his side, apparently not having any trouble with the mud despite walking in the same muck as Stiles. Nothing ever seemed to bother Raphael. He was one of those guys that everyone either loved or loved to hate. Stiles was bordering on the former at the moment.

  They were looking for a group of dark souls that Dylan had assured them could be found in this area, preparing to attack a fledgling settlement that was beginning to grow roots in the ruins of a nearby town. They each had access to the lassos Dylan had created for them and placed in their arsenals, the only defense they had against these souls at the moment. They’d been fighting them for nearly a year now with little luck at finding a more permanent solution. Dylan could send them home, some of them, but only one at a time and that was taking much too long.

  “She seems to be better these last few months,” Raphael suddenly said.

  “Who?”

  “Dylan. She seems better since the two of you found the orb.”

  “She’s more focused,” Stiles reluctantly agreed. “She understands better what lies in her future.”

  “I was concerned the earthly death of her husband would cause her to fail at her mission.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Stiles said, moving ahead of Raphael to step onto drier ground.

  “She has freewill.”

  Stiles didn’t answer. He wasn’t really interested in discussing Dylan and her uniqueness with this angel. Especially since Dylan wasn’t really going out her way to speak to Stiles much anymore. Ever since that afternoon at Joanna’s old house, Dylan seemed to be avoiding him on everything but the instructions she felt no qualms in giving him in regards to this war against the dark souls. Suddenly, he’d been demoted to soldier in her legion and he didn’t like it. Therefore, he didn’t need to be reminded she had freewill. He knew it all too well.

  “Rachel thinks the orb has helped her get over her grief somehow.”

  Stiles just grunted as he kicked the side of a tree, trying to get the mud off his boots.

  “She thinks that she’s ready to accept her fate. She’s just not ready to choose her soulmate.”

  “And Rachel knows this how?”

  Raphael shrugged. “They talk.”

  “Dylan knows what’s expected of her. She’ll make her choice when the time is right.”

  “You think it’ll be you.”

  Stiles glanced at Raphael. “My relationship with Dylan is really none of your business.”

  “I know you don’t have a soulmate. And everyone can see the way you look at her. You’re what my wife called a lovelorn puppy.”

  That made anger rise in Stiles’ chest so suddenly he could feel his armory open its doors and offer up his sword. But he didn’t reach for it. He simply turned away and began stomping through the trees again.

  “You do know that only an archangel can be her soulmate, don’t you?”

  Before Stiles could respond, a dark soul rushed at him from behind a stand of trees just a few feet ahead of him. He grabbed the lasso from his armory and easily swung it until it looped around the soul, somehow trapping its smoke-like figure in its embrace. Another rushed at Raphael, but he was even quicker than Stiles—of course—and caught it before it was even fully exposed to the clearing where they stood.

  If there were any other dark souls in the area, they didn’t feel the need to expose themselves. Stiles searched the area while Raphael took the souls to the small jail where Wilhelm continued to study them. A year and he had yet to come up with anything conclusive, but he kept promising them he would. Dylan had faith. Stiles was, again, losing his patience.

  Stiles returned to Dytonia, the small town where they’d set up their unofficial headquarters at Rachel’s library. Dylan was in the sitting room, reading through a sheaf of papers that appeared to come from a significant stack on the table in front of her.

  “What’s that?”

  “Death certificates,” Dylan said, brushing the hair out of her eyes as she looked up at him. “Rachel dug them up from the old city archives. She thought maybe if we knew something about the demons that are haunting this area—”

  “How do you know which were Nephilim and which were human?”

  “I don’t. But I’m learning a heck of a lot about the people who lived around here before my birth. Do you know more people died of disease and violence back then than natural causes? Can you imagine that?”

  “I’m not surprised. It was a violent world to live in.”

  “What was it like?” she asked, patting the couch cushion beside her. “You were here before the war was in full swing. What did you think of that world?”

  Stiles settled beside her and crossed his legs, looking more casual than he felt.

  “There were a lot of people in need,” he said slowly. “I spent my first night on Earth in a place they called a homeless shelter. It was for people who, for one reason or another, didn’t have homes of their own. I met a priest there—a religious leader—who abused the men who came to him for help.”

  “He hurt people using the name of God?”

  “Yes.” Stiles opened his mental barriers a little to allow her a peek of what he’d seen and heard that night. Horror dawned in her eyes and danced in
her soul. “People were not kind to each other in that world.”

  Dylan shook her head. “How did Lucifer allow it to come to that?”

  “I don’t know that it was Lucifer’s fault. Perhaps it was just a basic flaw in humans.”

  “But they were God’s creation. Would he have allowed such a flaw?”

  “Maybe that’s why he decided to start over.”

  Dylan nodded slowly, her eyes falling to the stack of death certificates in her lap. “Do you think that I’m capable of doing a better job than Lucifer did?”

  “I think you’re capable of more than you’ve ever given yourself credit for.”

  Dylan picked up the papers and dropped them on top of the pile sitting on the low coffee table. She sighed as she settled back on the couch. “Demetria’s worried that we’re stretching our resources too thin. There are too few of us to protect every settlement in the world. But we can’t leave any of them unprotected because we can’t predict where Jack and his people will attack next.” She reached up and rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “They just attacked a city outside of the ruins of Paris this morning. That’s the third attack in Europe in the last week.”

  “You could ask Raphael to request another legion of angels from heaven.”

  She nodded, but her shoulders were slumped as though they bore a heavy weight. “I thought of that. But I’m not sure bringing more angels down is the answer. I’ve already got to explain to the governing council’s committee about the ones we have now.”

  “Forget the council,” Stiles said. “They have no idea what’s best for them.”

  The council—the United Alliance of the Americas’ governing council—had decided in their infinite wisdom to banish all angels from populated areas, deciding that was the only way to prevent a repeat of the angel war. It never occurred to them that the angels were there to protect them from dangers they would never see coming, like these dark souls. In fact, they’d escorted Dylan out of town the moment Wyatt’s funeral was over, taking her from the only community she’d ever known and telling her that she was, essentially, no longer wanted.

  It was cold and unnecessary. And it pissed Stiles off to no end even all these months later.

  But Dylan…she’d forced them into a compromise in which she would make reports to a special committee appointed by the council and presided over by her daughter and her daughter’s children. She still respected their authority in a way Stiles would never completely understand.

  “I have to respect their wishes, Stiles. It’s the only way I can ensure their cooperation in the future.”

  “They’ll agree to more angels when these dark souls invade the council. When they begin attacking their own.”

  Dylan shivered. “I won’t let that happen.”

  “I’m not talking about Josephine.”

  Stiles turned into her, reaching for her hand. She pulled away, tucking her body tighter into the back of the couch. It was that—this new distance she was putting between them that was slowly killing him. She’d never denied him a touch before; she’d never denied him the connection they’d had between them since she was a small child. But now…she wouldn’t even allow a casual brushing of the hands, let alone a comforting touch.

  He stood up, moving so quickly around the low table that a few of the death certificates flew from the pile.

  “Stiles….”

  She said his name. But she didn’t really want him to come back to her. She was relieved. He could feel it radiating from her like waves of heat from the sun.

  Chapter 7

  Dylan was dreaming of that man again, the one with the comforting voice that promised her relief from her pain. He was standing behind her—she could feel the heat of his body—but she still had no idea what he looked like. She sensed that he was tall, as Wyatt had been, and that he had large hands that would be able to cup her face completely in one palm, as Wyatt’s once had. A part of her wondered if it was Wyatt, somehow returned to her through the miracles of God. But there was another part of her that understood Wyatt was gone for good now. She would not see him again unless she chose to go to heaven and seek out his soul. And, even then, there was no guarantee she would find the same Wyatt she missed so desperately down here from the life they once shared.

  And then her dream was interrupted by the moaning voices of people whose need was strong enough to break through her mental walls. There was an attack taking place in the south, below the equator. She could feel the pain of those who were possessed, the fear of those who were suffering at their hands. Without effort, she sent a distress call to Raphael and heard his voice respond: On my way.

  Then the voices faded. But not all of them.

  I need my mom, a familiar voice moaned. Please, mom, it hurts.

  Josephine.

  Dylan knew her time was drawing near. She checked in on her from time to time, traveling to her in her ethereal form, careful not to let Josephine or her husband, Matthew, know she was there. It took everything Dylan had to keep from touching her child and offering her advice when she could hear the fear and worry in her mind. A few times she touched her, took the edge off to help her sleep through the night or get through a stressful meeting as the president of the council. But, usually, she kept her distance because she knew that was what Josephine wanted.

  But now…

  Dylan went to her child in a flash of thoughts, arriving in her bedroom as she screamed with a new wave of labor pains. Her baby girl was about to enter the world. Matthew was holding Josephine’s hand, wiping the sweat from her brow as he whispered words of encouragement in her ear. A midwife was sitting on the bed, her hand on Josephine’s thigh as she tried to get her to focus on what needed to happen next. It was a calm scene except for Josephine’s screams—but there was something wrong. Dylan could feel it in the fading light of the baby’s soul.

  She moved into her human form without thinking about it, and approached her daughter as the midwife cried out in surprise.

  “The baby’s turned the wrong way,” she said, pressing her hand to the swell of Josephine’s belly.

  “Who are you?” the midwife demanded. “How do you know?”

  Dylan ignored her, aware that there wasn’t much time to fix the situation. Another moment or two and the child would asphyxiate. She closed her eyes and pictured the child, encouraging her to move into the proper position even as the midwife grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her away.

  “You can’t just walk in here and start telling me how to do my job!”

  “She’s the child’s grandmother,” Matthew said. “Please…she knows what she’s doing.”

  Josephine screamed again as Dylan felt the baby shift under her hands. The screams were hard to listen to, but Dylan knew it would all be over soon. The moment the baby had turned completely, she turned and pressed her hands to either side of Josephine’s face.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, infusing her daughter with enough of her healing power to give her the strength she would need to push the baby out. “You need to push now, darling. You need to get that baby out.”

  Josephine nodded; her eyes were wide and glued to Dylan’s. And then she sat up and bore down. Dylan stepped back, but Josephine grabbed her hand and held her close even as she worked to give that child life. It didn’t take much. Just like when Dylan gave birth to Josephine, the child slid out with just one, really strong, push.

  The room filled with the tender cries of the newborn as the midwife lifted her off the bed and wrapped her in a soft towel, wiping the products of birth from her skin.

  “Thank you, Mom,” Josephine said.

  Dylan leaned close to her and wiped the sweat from her brow with her bare hand, infusing her again with healing powers, taking away the pain and the memory of it, allowing only the joy behind.

  “This was all you,” she said. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”

  Dylan started to step back, but Josephine grabbed her han
d again. “I know what you’re doing for us. Daddy knew, too. He tried to convince them…”

  “It’s okay. I know.” Dylan bent and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I love you, Josephine. You’ve always been everything to me.”

  Tears shone in Josephine’s eyes as Dylan pulled back again. And then the midwife set the baby in her arms. She had dark hair that curled moistly against her forehead. It took Dylan’s breath for a moment as she stared at the tiny child’s features. She looked so much like Wyatt it physically hurt her to look at her.

  “Rhonda,” Matthew said. “Rhonda Wyatt.”

  Dylan nodded even as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe Wyatt wasn’t completely lost to her. Maybe there was reason to keep fighting.

  Chapter 8

  Stiles was sitting in a chair, leaning back against the front wall of Rachel’s library, chewing on a piece of dried meat as he watched people walk up and down the street as they went about their daily business. There hadn’t been any dark soul attacks in more than two weeks and that was making him nervous. Dylan thought it was because Jack was planning something big and he tended to agree with her. He was just worried that that something big was something they wouldn’t be able to put down.

  A young woman who’d already crossed in front of the building three times since he’d sat there crossed again, a soft smile on her lips as she caught his attention.

  “Good afternoon, Stiles,” she called.

  “You too.”

  She hesitated in her step, and then seemed to make a decision. She turned and came up the front steps, stopping just in front of him. The gentleman in him forced him to sit up properly, and then stand.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware,” she said, a blush coming to her pale cheeks, “but there’s a party of sorts in the park tonight. The town council thought it would be nice to celebrate one of the old holidays—the Fourth of July?”