FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2)

by Brenda L. Harper

  “But we survived.”

  “We did,” he agreed.

  He squeezed her hand before letting go. She thought he would roll over and go to sleep, but instead he moved closer to her. She felt his heat before she felt his hand move over her hip. She felt his breath on her cheek, felt his heart pounding as he moved against her body. Dylan remembered the night before everything had gone wrong, how she and Sam, Wyatt and Ellie, walked to that little stream and skipped rocks over the surface of the water. How carefree they had been for those few moments, how normal their lives had felt again for that short time. And she remembered how Sam had held her hand as they walked back to camp.

  It happened again. The little tremble that ran through her chest that made her heart feel as though it was skipping beats, even though she was pretty sure it wasn’t. He studied her face, stared into her eyes here under the stars with no one else around, no one to interfere, no danger to end whatever might happen between them.

  His kiss was soft, gentle. So different from the way Wyatt kissed her, but, somehow, just as exciting. He pulled back just as she was beginning to respond, his hand brushing gently against her cheek.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “But I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  “It’s okay,” she said over the lump that had formed in her throat.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about his touch, his kiss. Sam made her heart flutter, made her want to know what it would feel like if he kissed her again. But it also made her feel uncomfortable, as if she was doing something that wasn’t quite right.

  Sam was kind. When they were locked in the bowels of Viti together, he had been there for her, tried to protect her even though he was as vulnerable as she was. She felt like she owed him something for that. And she liked his touch. She liked the feel of his hand in hers, the feel of his lips on hers.

  So why couldn’t she stop thinking about Wyatt?

  When Sam slid up beside her that night by the stream, she had seen the hurt flash in Wyatt’s eyes. But Ellie draped over his shoulders at the time. She didn’t understand this thing between boys and girls, didn’t understand why it was so complicated. Why did Wyatt kiss her and then spend all his time with Ellie? Why did he touch her and then tell her he couldn’t trust her because of one little lie of omission? Didn’t he understand that she was doing what she thought was right? Wasn’t that what he had done when he lied about why he wanted to take her to his dad?

  “Do you love him?”

  Dylan bit her lip, worried for a second that Sam had heard her thoughts. He touched her chin, tugged her lip out of her mouth.

  “Wyatt,” he said. “You asked me about Ellie, so I figure it’s only fair that I ask about Wyatt.”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan said, honestly. “I didn’t even know what a man was until two weeks ago. All of this,” she gestured between them, “is all new and so confusing to me.”

  Sam ran his finger along her chin, tracing the curve of her jaw as his finger moved up to just below her ear and back again. “I just want you to know,” he said quietly, “that I care about you. But I can be patient.”

  “Sam—”

  He touched her lips with two fingers. “Take time to figure things out,” he said. “I’ll be here when you do.”

  Then he moved his fingers and replaced them with his lips. Again his kiss was soft, gentle. There was nothing invasive about it. It was almost like the tender kiss of a guardian or a sister. Well, maybe not. But it was less, somehow, than what she had known before, but at the same time, something so much more.

  Then he rolled over. His breathing settled almost immediately, telling Dylan he had fallen asleep. A restful one this time, she thought.

  Too bad she couldn’t sleep.

  Chapter 16

  Dylan couldn’t have been asleep for longer than an hour. Her dreams hadn’t even begun to really take hold yet. When she first felt something grab her arm, she thought it was part of those vague images that usually became something more solid. It wasn’t until her body was forced into a sitting position that she snapped back to consciousness and realized that something wasn’t right.

  “Sam?” she mumbled.

  “No,” a voice said in her ear.

  And then the world became this fuzzy thing that she couldn’t really understand.

  They were flying. At least, she thought they were. Moving faster than her brain could really comprehend, anyway. It was like being in some crazy pre-dream images, like being in the center of something surreal.

  She couldn’t speak. When she tried, no sound came out. Her mouth just filled with air. And the occasional bug.

  Fear drove little spikes through Dylan’s chest. She tried to pull her arms away from whoever, or whatever, was holding her, but the grip was like steel. Whoever it was held her so tightly that she could almost feel the bruises forming under the skin. There was nothing she could do but go for the ride.

  It seemed like hours, but she knew that in all logic it was likely only ten or fifteen minutes. Not that time seemed to matter anymore. Her life was all about when the sun was up and when it went down. The world was all about before the war and after the war. What difference did time make anymore?

  The thoughts that ran through her mind when she was frightened.

  They landed hard on the ground. Whoever had been holding her let go, and she rolled, smashing into a tree. Not a great way to break a fall.

  She didn’t move right away. She closed her eyes and took inventory of her body. The bruises stopped aching, and the bone in her right arm seemed to knit itself so quickly that she could almost feel the repair working under the skin. When she sat up, she ran her hand over the place where the bone had snapped, a part of her still unable to believe that she had been able to repair something with just a thought.

  Her powers seemed to be growing. She no longer had to picture the repair. All she had to do was want it done. That was new.

  She stood and looked around the small clearing where she had been dumped. Her captor, or whatever, was nowhere to be seen.

  “What do you want?” she called out.

  There was no immediate answer. She moved to the other side of the clearing, looking into the trees for some sort of clue as to what was happening to her. She couldn’t see anything. The thought passed through her mind that it would be helpful if she could see better in the darkness. But the thought did nothing to help her find her captor.

  “Where is Sam?” she cried. “Did you hurt him?”

  “No,” a voice said from behind her.

  Dylan spun around. A man stood there, tall and dark, too thin. He reminded her of a story she had once read. The main character was described almost like this man looked. Ichabod Crane. That was the character. This man looked exactly like Ichabod Crane.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “You were in danger.”

  “I’m always in danger,” she said, kicking at a stone in a need to vent a little of the frustration that seemed to explode in her chest every times someone said things like that to her. “Tell me something new.”

  The man seemed confused by her words. He tilted his head, almost like he was listening for a distant signal. “Gargoyles were coming for you. Someone had to do something.”

  “I can defend myself.”

  The man laughed. “The only one of you capable of any fight is that Wyatt. And he is too far away.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  He turned away. “Get some rest,” he said. And then he burst into a pillar of light and disappeared.

  Dylan had seen some interesting things since leaving Genero. This had to be the most interesting.

  “You can’t just leave me here!” she screamed into the canopy of trees when she realized that he wasn’t coming back. She didn’t get an answer. She hadn’t really expected to.

  After pacing for a time, exhaustion finally began to kick in. She settled under a tree, her thoughts on Sam. Where was he
? What had happened to him? Was he safe?

  If something had happened to him…

  She closed her eyes. Normally when she focused on someone, really thought hard about them, she could see them, as though she were a bird floating just behind their shoulder. It had worked with Wyatt on multiple occasions. She had never really tried it with anyone else. Until now.

  She focused on Sam. Almost immediately she saw him, saw him still lying in the field where he had been when they gone to sleep. He wasn’t asleep. He was talking to someone.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Sam said.

  “You better hope we find her first.”

  And then the connection was cut off, as though someone had sliced it with a knife.

  That had never happened before.

  Chapter 17

  Dylan couldn’t sleep.

  Thoughts spun around in her mind.

  Where was Sam? What had happened? Who was that talking to him?

  She had tried to connect with him again, but it hadn’t worked. It was like something was blocking her.

  There was something familiar about the voice she had heard, the person talking to Sam. A woman. Someone she knew. She couldn’t shake that feeling, that sense of familiarity. The voice belonged to someone she knew. But who?

  She began to run it through her mind, all the people she knew. Demetria. Donna. Davida. And the other sisters in D dorm.

  It wasn’t one of the first three, and she doubted it was one of the latter. Most of them were dead or still in Genero.

  And it wasn’t anyone she had met on the outside. At least, she didn’t think so.

  But, again, could it be? Could it be someone in the resistance?

  It seemed impossible. Not because those people were so trustworthy, but because she knew most of those people had not survived the attack by the Redcoats. And those who had were too far away to have caught up with her and Sam already. Not even Davida, who knew which direction they would be traveling, had reached the others yet. How could someone else track them?

  She didn’t think it was possible. Unless they could fly.

  And that made her think of the gargoyles.

  Of Stiles.

  Had Stiles led someone to them? To Sam? The man who brought her here had said the gargoyles were coming. Had Stiles betrayed her trust?

  He saved her. Over and over again, Stiles saved her. He led her to water when she was dying from dehydration. He saved her and Wyatt from another gargoyle. Then he saved them again, along with Sam, when they were about to be slaughtered by the Redcoats. He saved them when those gargoyles showed up before Demetria.

  Why would he do all that if he meant to lead her to harm?

  He told her his stories about humanity. Convinced her that he believed she was the future. But did he really believe it?

  She couldn’t accept that Stiles would hurt her. It just seemed so unlikely. He had been injured twice in her defense. Didn’t that mean something?

  And yet…someone had led that stranger to Sam.

  And there was something about Stiles, about his perfect gray eyes.

  She closed her eyes as she worked at the memory, as she tried to form some connection. And there was a connection. She could feel it like a palpable mass in her mind. There was something about Stiles, about the way he looked at her, about the way he talked to her. It was all so…familiar.

  And then she remembered.

  It had been tickling at the edge of her thoughts for a long time.

  Now she knew she had seen him before. Knew why he seemed so familiar.

  She laughed despite the tears that flooded her eyes, that made her throat raw with the urgency of the emotion.

  Was everything in her life a lie?

  What had he said about her test? That he had rigged it?

  Now she had a better idea of how.

  Dylan rolled it over in her mind again. Stiles said that Davida knew the moment she saw Dylan what she was because of the color of her hair, the paleness of her eyes. But had she really?

  Was it possible that no one knew who, or what, Dylan was until Stiles figured it out?

  And who had Stiles told? Who, besides Davida, had known about Dylan during her time in Genero?

  Dylan’s thoughts swirled so fast, she couldn’t catch them all. She suddenly realized she had no idea who she could trust.

  She made a list in her head, each person she had counted as a friend, someone she could rely on.

  Davida was her guardian. She warned Dylan each time trouble came her way, steered her in what seemed like the right direction. But that right direction had taken Dylan to Viti and the Redcoats. Had that really been an accident? Or had Davida wanted for Dylan to be arrested, for her to meet Lily and Luc? And, if that had been her intention, why?

  Jimmy was the leader of the resistance. He wanted to protect the humans and create a world where they could live free, as they had before the war started. But he distrusted Dylan. She could see it each time he looked at her. He distrusted everyone who was different. Yet, he kept Davida close to him. Why? Was it possible that his distrust was the only honest thing about him and the role he planned to play in the outcome of this struggle?

  Ellie was another Genero girl, someone who grew up in the same reality Dylan grew up in. She seemed attached to Wyatt, but was it an honest attachment? Or was it a ploy to distract Dylan? Was Ellie like Demetria, another gargoyle in disguise? Or something else? Or was she really just a vulnerable girl who was as scared and confused as Dylan had been, and still was?

  Sam. He was injured the first time Dylan met him, so they never really had that conversation people normally have when they first meet. She healed his ankle, and he was on her side when Wyatt threatened to kick Stiles out of their group. And when she was arrested…if not for Sam, she might not have been as calm as she was. She owed him that. But was his loyalty real? Or just a way to win her trust?

  And then there was Wyatt.

  It was Wyatt’s job to look for girls like Dylan, Genero girls abandoned to the desert who managed to survive the first day of their survival ‘test’. He had never found one, not until the day he came across Dylan. And then there was Ellie and Sam. Three in one trip.

  Wyatt lied to her about what he was doing, about why he wanted her to go to Viti with him. She wanted to believe that he had always intended to take her to his father. But had he? Then why did he tell Sam to take her to that back door, to a door where the Redcoats had been waiting for them? Whose orders was Wyatt really following all that time?

  All these people. She wanted to trust them. She needed to trust them. But it seemed like every time she turned around, someone else appeared, wanting something from her.

  Lily wanted to survive. Dylan understood that. She was ill, and she needed something from Dylan to make the illness leave her body. That she could understand, too.

  The gargoyles wanted to use her as a weapon. She didn’t even understand how that was possible, let alone why she was the only one they could use.

  Or why some of the gargoyles wanted to force her to help them, while others wanted to kill her.

  And then she was back to Stiles.

  Why had he helped her yet never asked anything of her?

  Was it really what he said? That he wanted to protect her and her kind so that, when the war was over, the hybrids could mix with the humans and make a better, stronger race? Could he really be the one to make that choice?

  Everything she had known, everyone she had trusted…was it all a lie?

  Dylan dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to decide what she should do now.

  Why hadn’t she put it together before?

  Anita.

  Anita was the only person associated with D dorm who didn’t have a name beginning with D. It had been a novelty. She was grotesque, her body twisted in some accident when she was a child. But she could cook like a dream. Her food was perfection. Dylan remembered all those days when it was her chore to help out the cook, al
l those days when the other girls mumbled and grumbled about their work assignments. But Dylan had always looked forward to it. Anita gave her first taste of all her wonderful concoctions, including the mini cakes. And she would allow Dylan a glass of milk with honey every night after the dishes were washed.

  Sweet, kind, loving Anita.

  Anita. With the gray eyes.

  Chapter 18

  The sun came up, but Dylan couldn’t see it. All she could see was the delicate pink light filtering down between the leaves of the trees. She began walking. She had no idea which direction to move in, but she knew she couldn’t just sit in one place and wait for someone, or something, to come find her. So she walked.

  Memories floated through her mind. The first time she met Anita. The smile Anita had offered her, the reassurance, the sense of respect.

  No one had ever treated Dylan quite the way Anita had. Not even Davida.

  One memory played on the edges of her consciousness over and over, niggling at her as though there was something important about it. The thing was, however, it was an ordinary day, an ordinary memory. She wasn’t even sure what there was about it that made Dylan remember it so clearly.

  “Cut the potatoes likes this,” Anita said. “They will cook faster that way.”

  Dylan watched as Anita ran the knife from corner to corner of the tuber and then diced it into thick chunks. Her hands moved quickly, with the confidence of someone who had done this for most of her adult life. Dylan found herself wondering if she would ever wield a knife with half that confidence.

  “Just be careful you do not slice off a finger,” Anita added. “Protein is important, but I’m sure most of the girls will want it from the stew, not from you.”

  Dylan giggled even though it was a joke Anita told often. Somehow, it never grew old.

  “How did you learn to cook?” Dylan asked.

  “I like to eat,” Anita said, slapping a hand against her wide hip. “So I figured I should learn to cook, too.”