The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

  So much pain and loss, and Kreios knew the taste of it well. Very well. Today one life had been snuffed. Kim was gone. Perhaps that was for the best, especially given how she had chosen … but it still didn’t reduce the sting, especially for Airel, he knew. But he could do something for this Ellie; maybe she could yet be saved.

  He gently touched Michael’s shoulder. Their eyes met and Michael moved with Airel to one side.

  As they moved away, Kreios looked down on the form of the half-breed girl, this Ellie.

  He caught his breath, felt his legs go weak. He rushed forward and fell to his knees at her side, choking out his daughter’s name: “Eriel?”

  CHAPTER I

  Cape Town, South Africa—Present Day

  “DAD,” WAS ALL SHE said.

  Kreios fell to his knees in the dirt beside his daughter. His eyes were tender and his voice shook. “Eriel.”

  She smiled, weak. “Dad, I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s Uriel.” She coughed up blood. “I’ve missed you.”

  Kreios broke into deep, heavy sobs, weeping bitterly. Thousands of years had passed since she had disappeared. He’d believed she was dead. And now, just when he’d found her again . . . After a few moments he regained his self-control and asked, “What happened?”

  “I took the Mark upon myself.”

  Kreios was stunned and confused. “But why?” was all he could manage. He crouched back on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, realization sinking in.

  “Michael and Airel are…” Uriel began, “…more important.”

  He looked at her, overcome with sadness. “But you are important to me. I cannot allow this.” What then came to him to do was dangerous. But were there any other options?

  He closed his eyes and weighed his decision.

  Finally he broke the silence. “Airel,” he said, his eyes still closed, “Airel, take Michael and your father and get off this mountain.”

  “What?” she said.

  He turned to her and said gently, “It will not be safe for you here. Not for anyone. You must go.”

  He turned back to his daughter, to his Uriel—his Eriel. More tears escaped from his eyes. “If we . . . if what I am about to do makes an end of my daughter, you must go and find what is next for you. I may not be able to continue on.” His tone was flat, resigned. He knew what he was about to do. There was only one choice remaining; there was no sense delaying anything.

  He turned and looked straight at Airel. “You are ready; this is what you were born to do. Listen for El and keep your head. Now go.”

  He turned back to Uriel’s sick and dying body. “I must now do what I can for her, and I am afraid. There is not much time left.”

  “But, Kreios, we—”

  “Airel,” he thundered, snapping his head to glare at her. Light pulsed from his tattoos; his teeth clenched. “Go now, and do not make me ask again.”

  Airel turned to go, reluctance written on her every feature.

  Uriel looked into her father’s eyes with surprise. “No, Father, leave me. Stay with Airel—you must.”

  But Kreios shook his head and began to open himself to what might very well kill him. This was his daughter, and he would not let her die.

  ***

  NOT ON YOUR LIFE. No—just try to make me leave you, Kreios. I wanted to scream at him, but I was confused and still trying to process that Ellie was in fact his daughter. Not only that, but she had saved Michael. At what cost?

  “Go,” Kreios said again, but this time it was almost a whisper.

  My movements felt robotic as I obeyed Kreios. Having only just been reunited with him, I hated the idea of leaving his side again, but he was not taking no for an answer—and I feared what I saw there in his eyes. I turned to see Ellie one last time, the little baby I’d read so much about, the one Kreios lived for, his only daughter. She gripped his shoulder and tried to pull herself up, but she couldn’t.

  Is this the last time I’ll see her? I couldn’t speak.

  Michael scooped up my father in his arms and carried him. My mixed-up life will be the death of everyone I love. I looked on at the limp motionlessness of my dad and wondered if he was going to make it. Will he live? What has he been through for me? Am I worth all this?

  I looked back at Kreios. I had to fight to hold back tears. He was draped over his daughter’s dying body, the muscles of his back jerking in spasms of grief as he sobbed. I wanted to run to him, to help somehow, but I knew—I could feel—this was something far beyond me.

  Michael touched my arm and I searched his eyes for some hidden strength. He managed a small smile and said, “Come on, Airel. Let’s go home.”

  ***

  FRANK WISEMAN WATCHED THE sun beginning to burst upon the predawn sky over False Bay from the verandah of his posh villa in Simon’s Town. He hated it—he hated all of it. His harpy of a wife was scratching and clucking like a yard-bound hen again, nagging him into getting a bit of exercise.

  “But you’ll live longer,” she always said. He hated that too. She only wanted him to live longer so she would have someone to nag. If she didn’t have that, she wouldn’t have a single reason to live, he ventured.

  Nevertheless, he was up at sunrise. Why? Because he was hopelessly stranded in the rut of his life. The truth was, if he didn’t have her around to make him miserable, he wouldn’t have anything. He had come to enjoy fighting with her. But he never let that show. It would ruin the game for both of them.

  “Well, Frank, let’s get a move on,” she said, her voice strident and grating.

  “After you, princess.” He used her pet name like an insult.

  They walked down the steps together to the beach. She was talking again, and he tuned her out. There was some mention of, “… you’ve got to quit the salt …” and a little more of, “… at your age, you know …” He rolled his eyes and kept up with her.

  The sun was about to peek over the mountains across the bay. It would be blinding and she would go on about how magnificent it was and “Oh, Frank, isn’t it lovely to be up and out before the dawn so we can see all this,” but it would be blinding anyway and all it would mean was another wretched day had come upon him, that there would be heat, sun, misery, and his dear wife, Kimberley, in increasing order of irritation.

  He kicked at a stone embedded in the sand, but his foot caught on it and he took a tumble, soaking his nice new pants in the wet sand. “Ow. Dash it all.”

  “Frank? Oh, dear. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just help me up, will you?”

  She reached to help him. “Are you sure? Did you break anything? You should be more careful. You know how brittle your bones are.”

  “No, Kimberley, no broken anything. Lucky for you.” He tried his best to dust the sand from his bottom, but he was still wet and uncomfortable. Yes, it was rather like Kimberley.

  He looked down at the offending rock, more than a little bemused at the effect it had taken on his morning exercise.

  But it was not a rock.

  It was something bright pink.

  “Well, now, what is that, do you suppose?” he muttered to himself. “Princess, will you help me with this?” He kneeled in the sand to dig around the edges of the object.

  The more his hands scraped away the wet sand, the more intrigued he became. He did not know where the impulse was coming from, but it seemed … it seemed … it seemed like something important.

  Frank dug while Kimberley stood with her arms crossed, clicking her tongue in disgust.

  Finally, the earth gave up its buried treasure. It had been embedded in the sand by the tides. “Some child’s book bag,” Frank exclaimed, beginning to fumble for the zipper.

  “Well, don’t open it.” she scolded, but he did anyway. “Really. I don’t see how it’s any of your business, Frank. I really—”

  “Kimberley,” Frank said in annoyance, “shut up.”

  She did, but not without a huff and a foot stomp.

  The zip
per fell back to reveal a bright red jewel. As the sun threw open the day, the first rays fell upon the stone and lit it with an unreal light.

  But hold, Frank thought, quite unlike himself, what’s this? The stone was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Still, he wondered what else might be in the knapsack. Perhaps more treasures?

  He opened the bag further and looked inside it. “It’s a book,” he said absentmindedly. “A right nice-looking one, too.” He reached to pull it out, and as he did so, his fingers brushed against its hidebound cover. Like a shot in the dark, one word rang out in his head:

  AIREL.

  CHAPTER II

  Arabia, 1232 B.C.

  URIEL WATCHED FROM THE limbs of a tree high above as her father roared at the heavens in frustration. There was pain there, too. She bore witness to the undeniable fact that this pain was the final thing they now shared. She decided in that moment that it would be the last time they shared anything.

  How can I explain myself to a man who refuses to listen, who refuses to allow me to be who I am and not what he wants me to be?

  She thought back to all the misunderstandings, all her attempts at flight, thwarted by her father. Each time she tried to spread her wings, he was there to stop her. All he ever did was hold her back, and all in the name of keeping her safe.

  I am not a child anymore. Quit treating me like I am made of glass.

  She held her breath and closed her eyes, focusing on the thing she wanted most—to disappear, to leave. She knew enough of the shadowing gift to know how to draw the mists about her, as her uncle Yamanu had taught. In this, she had proven to be naturally gifted and able, and it had not occurred to her then that the expression on Yamanu’s face could have been either shocked surprise or veiled fear when she had done it so easily the first time. She felt that the gift was different for her than it was for Uncle Yam, and his eyes had confirmed as much to her mind.

  She was able, not just simply to call up a powerful spiritual fog, but to physically dissemble, the minutest particles of her body disbanding into the atmosphere. They were bound only by the invisible, her spirit, which, when she focused hard, commanded that the air into which she had dissolved would release the infinite specks that composed her. Then she would resume her natural form. She had scared herself a few times testing this new power, but in the end she reasoned, eagles must either fly or die. If an eagle cannot or will not fly, it really isn’t much of an eagle, is it?

  He would see soon enough that it was not she who needed protecting.

  ***

  YAMANU WAS SEIZED WITH terror, which was not like him. He was customarily the one rational mind, the one trusting and dauntless spirit composing this angelic fellowship. But now his thoughts ran wild.

  He decided he had to write to Kreios, tell him what he believed was true, and hope that perhaps he would be able to reach Uriel before it was too late.

  Salutations, Kreios,

  My kinsman and my friend, I fear this letter may reach you far too late, but I must tell you what I have witnessed here.

  Your daughter came to live with me, as you are no doubt aware. She was a delight, but like you, she has her own mind. I sensed a change upon her arrival in Ke’elei. She had travelled so far, and I feared she had been compromised.

  As you know, I believe neither in chance nor coincidence.

  My kinsman, she arrived at the city already in a state of metamorphosis, though it didn’t manifest in sickness until later.

  She fell ill for a time. She took on new appetites and her hair changed from raven black to a lighter hue. The first day I noticed it, it took on a purplish cast, and from then on, it became bluer and bluer until she could hide it no longer and went about the city at all times with a scarf covering her head.

  The Brotherhood possesses untold power and I began to suspect her change was instigated by a young man she was fond of—a boy named Subedei.

  I prayed and asked El to confirm to my heart if she had been activated by the Brotherhood, but I did not receive an answer. I prayed again, but still, only silence.

  She begged me to train her in the angelic arts and I, like a fool, began to teach her. To my surprise and dismay, her gift revealed itself as precisely that selfsame shadowcraft I have long possessed. I taught her one lesson. She soon surpassed me in both power and potency.

  And now she has taken that immense untested burden and fled. I searched in vain, but she is like the wind. I ask for your mercy and forgiveness in this matter, as I have failed you. I shall live eternally with my regret if anything terrible should befall her.

  Your humble kinsman and friend,

  Yam

  ***

  ALL KREIOS COULD DO was nothing, and it threatened to be his undoing. He wanted to fly over the earth and search his daughter out, rip the mountains apart by their roots and turn them to dust.

  But he knew his kin was right—she would not be found until she desired such a thing.

  He felt sure that he bore the lion’s share of the blame for his daughter’s waywardness. He had tyrannized her. He hadn’t given her enough choices. It was inevitable that she would rebel—he had pushed her away.

  Kreios moaned in agony, falling to his knees and touching his brow to the earth, his hands covering his ears in a vain attempt to blot out the sound of his own condemnation. His heart and conscience told him again and again that this turn of events had been of his making. He had backed Eriel into a cage, and in response, she had shaken what she could shake.

  And now, as a Shadower, what would she do? Where would she go? This, the most powerful of the angelic arts, had been unlocked in her, and it was like touching a single burning ember to a field of dry stubble. What will she do with this knowledge, this power, completely unchecked by wisdom, without a mentor or teacher? The thought was too terrible to bear. Kreios knew his daughter would, as sure as the sun now sank below the horizon in the west, inevitably burn, that it would produce only more pain in her life.

  He did not know how to pray. Should he ask for mercy or for punishment? She was out there on her own now. The thought made him groan in deep frustration.

  He could no longer protect his own daughter. His one remaining passion and promise—failed.

  CHAPTER III

  Cape Town, South Africa—Present Day

  KREIOS TRIED TO CLEAR his mind, but thoughts of past failures and losses plagued him. Uriel, his only daughter, was not dead but alive, and here. He wanted to ask her why. He wanted to curse her for leaving him, for allowing him to think she was dead. He was torn between his role as a father and his love for her. Duty or unconditional love? One would think that the choice would not be so hard.

  But she now lay dying. “Uriel, you must not move. No matter what happens now, do not try to intervene.”

  Her eyes stayed half open and unfocused as a long, miserable moan escaped her parted lips. She was on the edge of consciousness; her skin was clammy white, and the stench from the Mark was strong.

  Kreios closed his eyes and opened his mind to the heavens, to El, beholding his daughter with new eyes. Veins of black ran over the skin of her arms and neck, twisting, choking vines of death.

  He placed his hand over her heart. “El …” Kreios, the Angel of Death, whispered a prayer. In his mind he could see the door, dark and broken as if somewhere in time, it had been burned. Red light seeped from the corners and between the broken slats of wood. Beyond was the Mark, his curse, and maybe his very life.

  Kreios reached for the door and flung it open.

  ***

  ELLIE SAW THE EARTH open beneath her, beheld Sheol opening its gaping jaws to receive her, and though she closed her eyes to blot out the sight of it, the vision wouldn’t respond. Her mind still stared on. A great cord, a black vine had grown out from the darkest recesses of the earth, its roots suckling on the surges of a blood-red stone, the vine opening its hideous tendrils to receive her, and as these wisps of blackness wended themselves around her body and constricted
her, she held fast to her final strand of hope—that all was not lost.

  Then a bolt of light shot past her from above and behind, smote the hideous vine with a powerful blow, and she was free. She turned to the sky—light.

  Below—darkness.

  Blood.

  Kreios.

  Breaking from the vision, her eyes flew open and she gasped for air, clutching at her chest. She coughed and spit up a dark slime that sizzled when it hit the dirt. She was alive and at once remembered where she was, who had saved her, and what that could mean.

  She sat up, feeling her strength return to her in powerful waves. She looked around for Kreios, fearing the worst. “Father?”

  But she was alone.

  ***

  FRANK WISEMAN WASTED NO time. “Come here, princess,” he said to Kimberley, “and help me up, dear.” As his wife came near and grasped his hand, he stared into her eyes. She feels enough to fear. But not enough to know what I’m going to do to her.

  Frank stood to his feet, but did not let go of her hand. He wheeled her around, jamming her hand into the small of her back as he marched her into the dawn surf, deeper. Deeper.

  “What are you up to now? You fancy a swim? But you hate the water—Frank, stop messing around and let me go.”

  Kimberley made an attempt to break free. But Frank pushed on as the water came up chest-high. He felt her body tense up as what he was about to do started settling in. He wondered if she would fight it, lie to herself so her own reality would override her fears.

  Frank leaned into her ear as the surf rose and whispered, “Shh.” When the next wave came, he grabbed the back of her head and forced her under. A person can drown in a couple of centimeters of water. She struggled but he held her fast, not letting up.

  When the wave had passed them by and she tried to cough it out, he covered her nose and mouth with his free hand. Instinct. She’s a good girl—she wouldn’t struggle on purpose.