“I needed Wyatt. I needed to be normal, to have a normal, human life. I needed to feel love, to feel that connection. And I think God wanted that. We all needed time to adjust to life after the war, to redefine normal. But Wyatt…I don’t think he was ever, truly, my soul mate.”
“But he could heal you.”
“Could he? Or did he just calm me enough so that I could heal myself?”
Stiles’ eyes narrowed slightly. “And the thoughts you shared?”
“I could hear everyone’s thoughts. And projecting thoughts into someone else’s mind was nothing.”
“But it stopped.”
“Because I stopped needing it.”
Dylan watched her hand move slowly over Stiles’ chest, the bright red of his chest hairs tickling her fingers as her touch caused a soft blush to darken his pale skin. He was still refusing to touch her. She wanted his touch. She could almost feel it like a phantom bug crawling across her flesh. But she was okay with him taking his time.
“I loved Wyatt,” she said softly. “And you loved Rebecca. They were what we needed when we needed them. But that time has passed.”
“So now?”
“Now, you and I are walking a new path together. A path no one else has ever walked. We don’t know what comes next. But we know that we’re soul mates, forever tethered together.”
“And what does that mean?”
Dylan shrugged as her eyes moved slowly back to his face. “It means we complement each other. I provide strength where you’re weak, and you provide strength where I’m weak.”
“Yeah?”
“It means we’re friends, companions. Always connected.”
He nodded as he slowly backed away from her. “That’s what I thought.”
Dylan stood there, her hand still high in the air as though his chest was still accepting her touch.
“Stiles…”
“I should go. I need to help Wilhelm close up shop tomorrow. And we need to search for any stragglers that might not have ascended.”
“Is it so bad that I want you to say it first?”
He didn’t even stop walking.
“I’m the one with freewill. You’re not. Is it so bad that I just wanted to pretend for a minute that you chose me because you wanted me, and not because it was your purpose?”
He stopped, tension in his shoulders causing the muscles across his bare back to flex and pop. His scars were still visible, even in the pale moonlight—the places where Mammon had cut off his wings and the place where Joanna’s sword went through his side. There was a place on the small of his back, too—another wound caused by an angel’s sword. She wanted to touch them and make them go away, just like she wanted to heal the memories of those days and bring happiness into his eyes. She didn’t want to see that perpetual sadness in his eyes anymore. She wanted a happy ending for Stiles…and she wanted to be the one to give it to him.
“Okay,” she said softly, her voice made husky by her tears. “I’ll be the one to say it. I love you, Stiles. I’ve probably always loved you; I just wouldn’t let myself see it. But I do love you and I want this to be more than just a companionship. I can’t imagine spending the rest of forever tethered to you and not able to touch you, or to lay with you and tell you all the things that I’ve hidden for longer than I care to admit. I want you to be my lover, my better half, my husband. I want—”
He was suddenly there, taking her face between both of his hands. He kissed her with an abandon that was better than soaring high in the sky, better than the first visit to heaven, even better than everything she’d yet to experience. And she returned that kiss, refusing to control her hands, refusing to stop them from pressing themselves to his back, to his waist, from slipping into his hair and drawing him that much closer to her.
He lay her down there in the sand and the fine grass, his hands tugging at her clothing until there was nothing between them but the pliable flesh of their human forms. Of all her abilities, of all the things Dylan could, and had, done in her lifetime, this was more like magic than any of those things were. This was fulfillment taken to so many levels above her previous reality that she could never go back. She didn’t understand how other soul mates could resist this. How could Gabriel and Raphael not want the pleasure waiting for them in their connected souls? But maybe it was different for them. Maybe this—she and Stiles—maybe they were different.
Maybe.
Chapter 28
Stiles walked into the house and dropped onto his knees to accept the happy kisses of Misha, the beautiful golden retriever Dylan had insisted they needed to take in a few years ago.
She’s a beautiful soul, she’d said at the time.
She’d been right, of course. But the idea of having a dog had never appealed to Stiles. The dog was growing on him, but he tried not to let Dylan know that. She just loved being right.
“You home?” he called out.
“In the den,” came her quick reply.
Stiles shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the hook beside the door before proceeding into the house. He loved this house. They’d built it together over three hundred years ago. The solid wall of windows at the back of the living room looked out on a lovely copse of trees, one particular tree set perfectly in the center of the view. He’d wanted to build here because his memories of this place were not tainted by grief. Dylan had readily agreed, preferring to leave their little spot beside the river untouched. They still went there sometimes. Still lay together by the water and talked about the words they’d said to each other the night they became soul mates.
I promise to give you space when you need it, but to always watch over you. I promise to never tell another lie, even if it means protecting you from something dark. I promise to never block your powers or prevent you from fighting in another battle. And I promise to always be by your side, to give you my strength when you need it, and to accept your strength when I need it.
They were unusual vows. But it worked for them.
“How was the meeting?” he asked as he stepped into the low, dark den.
“Uneventful. Josephine’s great-great-granddaughter is beautiful. She looks just like her.”
Stiles moved up behind her and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “They’ve all looked like her.”
“I don’t know. I thought Rhonda looked more like Wyatt.”
“Because Josephine looked like him.”
Dylan stood, moving in Stiles’ arms. “At least there was nothing to report at this meeting. I don’t like having to tell them about some threat that’s coming down on their heads.”
“I just think it’s great they still have the council in place. If Josephine hadn’t lobbied so hard for it all that time ago…”
Dylan stepped back. “You should go change. Raphael’s coming over later.”
“Yeah?”
“Rachel thinks he needs a little recreation.”
Stiles laughed. “That girl is more like her great….how many greats is it now?”
“I don’t know. Two or three.”
“Well, she’s more like our Rachel with every passing year.”
“Rachel would be proud.”
Dylan turned him around and pushed him toward the door. “Go get changed, professor. It wouldn’t do to greet your guests in jeans and a t-shirt.”
“It’s good enough for my students.”
“Yeah, well, that’s their choice.”
Stiles laughed, but he went down the hall just as she’d asked.
He taught ancient history at a local university. It struck him as ironic, seeing as how he’d seen most of what he lectured about take place live and in person. But, of course, thanks to the agreement they’d made with the council of the United Alliance of the Americas—which was now just the Americas—they weren’t allowed to reveal their true nature. They had to live in obscurity, hiding their talents from the humans living closer and closer around them. It took a little getting used to at first, but it was
a familiar routine now. They moved from time to time, leaving this beautiful house for a generation or more, but always coming back to it. They’d even learned how to make themselves look as though they were aging, although their bodies never really did age. Dylan was still as beautiful as she was the day she was driven out of the dome of Genero. And when Stiles looked in the mirror, he still saw the same brilliant red hair and gray eyes he’d seen the first time he saw this body in a mirror in that homeless shelter.
The world was changing around them, but they were the same.
“I saved an old lady from falling on some train tracks today,” Dylan said.
She’d come into the room and was leaning against the doorframe as she watched him tug his shirt from his body.
He liked that her eyes softened with appreciation even after all these years.
“Sounds like fun.”
She shrugged. “It’s no battle with demons, but it was better than sitting on my butt all day.”
“Did you do any writing?”
She nodded. “Some.”
Stiles went to her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. It was difficult, for her especially. They could no longer visit heaven even though they could hear the voices of the angels in their heads. Sometimes they could hear the voices of their loved ones, too. And there were so many loved ones. In the beginning, they watched as Rachel, then Matthew and Josephine, grew old and died. Then it was little Rhonda. And others…Rachel’s children, Rhonda’s daughters, and friends they’d made over the years. They eventually stopped making friends with outsiders, preferring to keep their circle of friends to the angels who lived among the humans as they did. Raphael was still here, his legion still loyally doing all they could to help Dylan keep the humans safe. Other angels came and went. They’d spent a good fifty years with Gabriel at one point, finally discovering that he’d been tricked by Jack James when he came to Earth looking to replenish an herb that had died out during the war. He fancied himself something of a botanist. And then there were the gargoyles.
Wilhelm worked at the university with Stiles. It took a good two hundred years, but they’d finally mended their differences. Demetria was still around, too, doing what she could to take care of the dirty work where basic human nature was concerned. And there was the rest of her band of gargoyles.
Donna died long ago. Dylan had sat by her side as she passed, easing her suffering as a stroke took her ability to communicate from her. Wilhelm was devastated for a time. But now his work kept him busy.
It was an interesting existence. And they were happy. When they were together like this, time no longer mattered.
Stiles kissed her, the taste of her lips always so new, like the sweetest nectar of the sweetest fruit. He couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of it.
“Are you going to show me what you wrote today?”
She groaned as she twisted out of his arms. “It’s silly.”
“Not if it makes you happy.”
He moved around her and headed down the hall to the den. She figured out where he was going. She grabbed his arm and tried to stop him, but he just jumped, transporting himself to her desk before she could stop him.
Stiles fell to earth late one Friday afternoon.
He laughed. “How do you know it was a Friday?”
Dylan grabbed the pages out of his hand and stuffed them back into the drawer where she kept her writings. “It just sounded good. I don’t know if it was a Friday. Your sense of time is still pretty iffy.”
That was true. He often had to have his students remind him what day it was.
“I can’t believe you’re writing a whole novel based on my memories. Do you really think anyone would be interested in it?”
She shrugged. “I’m not doing it for anyone else. I’m doing it so I won’t forget.”
Stiles pulled her against his chest. “Well, Miss Brenda Lee Harper, I think that’s pretty amazing.”
She groaned as she slipped out of his arms. “Get dressed. We have guests coming!”
He laughed as he ran up the hall, wondering if life could possibly get any better than this.
~ END ~
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SOUL MATES (Angels and Demons Book 3) Page 16
