by J. D. Dexter
The only time I’d met Hunter’s dad, Franklin, I felt like I’d been called in to see the principle for disrupting class too often. A sterner, colder man I’ve never met. The differences between Abigail and Franklin are like night and day.
Reggie and Abigail are much warmer and closer to Hunter. Welcoming me into their family with open arms and hearts. It might also explain the differences between his step-siblings as well. Franklin’s step-son, Colton, is a douche-canoe of the highest order. While Kendra, Abigail’s step-daughter, is sincere and inviting.
“And what if it turns out that Hunter isn’t the Ashen Angel?” Brian asks.
“Then we know we need to keep looking,” Brent says. “It would be easiest to find out about Hunter now. We have access to his parents and other information. We start with him and branch out if he’s not our angel.”
I fail to suppress a snicker.
Hunter looks at me. “What’s so funny?”
“Remember when you used to call me Angel-socks? Before you shortened it to just Socks?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“Yeah. You were much more angelic back then. Now you’re mostly annoying.”
“Oof.” He rubs his hand over his belly where I elbowed him.
“Rude.”
He winks at me.
“No more kisses for you.” I stick my nose in the air, turning away.
He grabs my hip bones, pulls me back against the front of his body. “I didn’t say I didn’t like you annoying,” he whispers in my ear. “I like ruffling your feathers. Because then I get to soothe them.” He nips my earlobe.
A low flame starts in my low belly. This guy is my own personal angel.
“Cool it, you two. You’re worse than horny teenagers,” Brent says.
“You’re just jealous that Sarah got called back to Washington for a while,” Hunter says as he pulls away from my neck.
“So. You’re still in public. Get some decorum please,” Brent says with a huff.
“I like the décor as it is,” I say with a wink.
Groans fill the kitchen.
“Oh come on, that was a good one.”
“Low effort, Finley-babe. Just because the fruit is hanging low, doesn’t mean you should get it,” Brian groans.
I stick my tongue out at all of them.
“Back to the angel issue at hand,” Kezi says. “If you guys could go meet with Hunter’s parents and talk with them, we can find out one way or another.”
“Works for me,” Hunter says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.
He takes the few steps from the kitchen down the hall to the master bedroom.
I turn to Kuni. “So what happens if Hunter is the angel?”
“He will be able to absorb the power from Anixia,” she says drily.
I roll my eyes at her. “Yeah, thanks. Figured that part out. What happens to him if he does that? Will he die? Become leader of Ankarrah? Be banished or hunted?”
I can feel my stomach clenching and my heart rate beginning to climb. I’ll find a way to keep him out of all of this if it means he stays safe.
“No one knows. The prophecy as you know it, is only half finished,” Kuni says in a matter-of-fact tone.
Like she didn’t just rip my world into shreds.
36
“What do you mean the prophecy as we know it is only half finished?” Kezi asks, her eyes taking on a slight metallic sheen.
Kuni looks at us like we’re all stupid. “I begin to realize where you get your penchant for repeating things you already know.” She looks at me. Huffing a sigh, she settles onto her back legs like a dog.
I’ve never seen a shark perch on her haunches. But I’ve got to say, it’s pretty dang cute. I smother a smile.
“The Ankarrahi prophecy about Finley is incomplete. The Keeper who provided the knowledge for the telling is no longer on this plane of existence. He passed nearly five millennia ago.”
“But Fin’s prophecy didn’t show up in Ankarrah history until almost eight hundred years ago,” Kezi says.
“Because Anixia hadn’t ignited yet,” Kuni explains.
“Now, I’m just confused. You had Finley’s prophecy about killing Anixia before even Anixia was alive?” Brock asks in a gruff voice.
“Yes.” Kuni nods.
“How?” Brian asks.
“Finley is important to the entire KMV. Anixia is merely her starting point,” Kuni says slowly.
“KMV?” I whisper.
“Known multi-verse.”
I just nod, my brain on overload.
“So do other worlds have prophecies about Finley-babe?” Brian asks.
“Of course.” Kuni sighs hugely. “You are all very irritating. Finley does the same thing. Asking questions or repeating everything that is said. Very annoying.”
“We’re trying to process what you’re saying. Stop being a douche,” I say, a glare wrinkling my brow.
“We’re good to head over to Reggie and Mom’s house, Socks. Let’s go,” Hunter says as he walks back into the room.
“What?” He asks, coming to a stop as he glances at us. “What’s wrong now?”
“Apparently, my prophecy is only half-finished,” I manage to get the words past the lump in my throat.
“And that means what?” he asks.
“We’re waiting for Kuni to explain,” Brent says.
“The remainder of her prophecy was lost with our Ancient Keeper. He alone was the holder of Finley’s life line. You will need to gather the remaining prophecies from the other worlds in order to understand your full destiny.”
“I’m really hoping Jesus comes back before then,” I mutter to the room.
Kuni opens her mouth.
“Just stop.” I lift my hand at her. “Hunter and I are going to his mom’s house to chat with her. We’ll discuss the catastrophe that my life has become when we get back.” I grab Hunter’s hand and pull him with me towards the front door.
“Socks?”
I just shake my head. I can’t deal with this new issue right now.
“Okay.” He closes the door behind us as we step into the sunshine.
***
“Finley, you look radiant. Doesn’t she look radiant, Abby-girl?” Reggie says as we exchange hugs in the foyer of their home.
“Yes, she does.” Abby hugs me. She smells like homemade cookies and lavender. “Welcome back.” She pulls back and looks at me from arm’s length away.
“You’ve got more trouble brewing,” she says, making it a statement.
“Yeah, we do. Abby, I’m so sorry, but Hunter and I need to ask you some questions.” I wrap my hands around her wrists and give a light squeeze.
She looks over at her son. The love that oozes out of this woman reminds me of my own mom, Alice. The ache that sits next to my heart flares to life once again. I miss my parents so much still.
“Of course, come in to the living room.” She follows Reggie down the hallway and turns right into the comfortable but classy living space. I’m always amazed at her ability to combine those two styles.
Hunter and I sit down on the couch together, our legs touching from hip to knee.
“That trouble we were having earlier this year?” Hunter begins.
“Yes. Is everything still all right?” Reggie asks.
“More or less.” Hunter nods. “We’ve run into a bit of a snag on information. Mom, did you have any problems conceiving me?”
I gulp back my gasp of surprise. Hunter’s not usually so direct with his mom. He tends to take a circuitous route to getting information. I entwine my fingers with his, laying both of our hands on my lap.
He squeezes my hand. I can feel the faintest of trembling as he relaxes his hold.
I rest more of my body weight against him, wanting to give him more comfort, but unsure if it would be rebuffed or welcomed right now. His body softens, pulling me deeper next to him.
“Mom?” Hunter asks.
“Why on Earth would you ask somethi
ng like that?” Abby has her fingers tangled in her necklace, her face stark white, her eyes pinched at the corners.
Crap, crap, crap.
I loosen my grip on my control of the adira in my body as I focus on her. Her body is awash in reds, oranges, murky browns, and hazy greens. She embarrassed and feeling attacked.
“Abby, it’s vitally important that we know. We have no judgements, but we need this information,” I say gently.
“Of course not,” she splutters.
Her Spectrum flushes bright red and orange, a raging fire of lies and fear.
“You’re lying,” I say softly.
Her gasp is drowned out by Reggie’s bark, “Finley, I won’t have you talking to Abigail that way.”
“I completely understand, Reggie. I really do. But I know for a fact that she’s lying.”
“Finley…” Hunter says.
“We need to let them know, Hunter. They need to understand.” I look at him, his face fierce and protective as he looks at his mom.
He looks at me, his gaze searching mine. His deep chocolate eyes soften, guilt and pain heavy in their depths.
“Are you familiar with the term Ankarrah, Abby?” I ask her.
Her gasp gives her away.
I heave a sigh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Mom?” Hunter sounds like an unsure teenager, vulnerable and aching for safety.
Abby drops her head, her shoulders shaking. “Abby-girl, whatever it is, we’ll get through it together,” Reggie says, dropping down in front of her on the floor. His hands rise to her lap, rubbing her legs.
The sounds of soft sobbing can be heard. Reggie murmurs to her. Her watery answers are unintelligible.
I look up at Hunter. The sorrow and ache pouring from him down our adira bond quickly floods my system. I pull him into me, wrapping as much of his big body in my arms as possible.
Hunter doesn’t cry very often, but he does get really quiet. He escapes inside himself, a place I’ve not been invited too often. So I hold him against me as best as I can as we wait for Abby to be able to talk.
“Talk to me,” I tell Hunter on our mental connection.
“I don’t know what to say.”
I squeeze him. Sometimes there are no words, no feelings. I sit with him in the quiet. Letting him know I’m there for him if he needs me.
After about fifteen minutes of soft whispering between Reggie and Abby, he gets up and moves his chair to sit next to her. Keeping her hands in his, she wipes at her eyes and nose with a tissue.
“Abby and Franklin were unable to conceive naturally,” Reggie begins, his voice solemn. “They tried for years to have you, Hunter. They tried everything under the sun. As they had given up hope, they were approached by a man who heard about their suffering.”
“Where?” Hunter asks.
“At the hospital. We’d just finished learning that the last round of IVF had failed. I was crying into Franklin’s shoulder when he approached us. He was short, very round, had cherub cheeks, and a very kind smile. He laid his hand against my stomach. I felt a brief flare of heat as I pulled away. Just as your father was getting ready to punch him, the doctor came out and told us he needed to see us.” Abby clenched her fingers around the tissue, her eyes seeing her past.
“We went back into the doctor’s office. We had only done a blood sample, but some of the blood work came back abnormal. He wanted to do an ultrasound, just to be sure. Franklin was furious, he started yelling. He yelled at the doctor about the stress I’d been under, the weight I’d lost, the stress I couldn’t handle, the emotions out of control. Franklin forbid me having the ultrasound saying I didn’t need the disappointment or extra stress when it would show negative once again.”
I felt Hunter’s body tighten against mine. I rub my arms up and down his back as much as I could.
“This was our last chance, I couldn’t say no. We had run out of options.” Abby looked at me, her eyes begging me to understand.
“Of course, you did. I would have done the same thing,” I say.
“I told the doctor he could run any test he wanted. Your father went berserk. Hospital security was called. While they detained him, I went with the doctor for the ultrasound. I was almost sick with hope and fear.”
She chokes on her renewed sobs, her shoulders shaking violently. “The doctor found you on that ultrasound after almost ten minutes of looking. I kept begging him to look. I knew you were there, inside me.” She gulps a couple of times, her breathing ragged. “Just as he was getting ready to turn the machine off, the faintest flicker of a tiny bean showed up on the monitor.”
“You called me ‘Bean’ when I was growing up,” Hunter says, wonder in his voice.
“You were my magic bean,” she whispers back.
“How did you hear about Ankarrah?” I ask her.
She turns to look at me, regret shadowing her features. “I saw that short, happy man once when I was at the grocery store with Hunter. You were about two, maybe three, years old. He handed you a banana from the free fruit stand. You took it from him with a smile. You usually hated strangers, screaming your head off when someone even glanced at you wrong. But with this man, you just smiled, cooed at him, took the banana, and blew him a kiss.”
“He turned to me, a smile on his face and reflected in his eyes. He said that he was so thankful that he was able to help me. I remember clearly his next words, ‘I wasn’t sure I should help, or even that I could. But your sorrow brushed my soul, and I couldn’t stand the grief. He will be important one day, your blonde angel. Ankarrah will call on him. He must be ready. Love him well, Abigail.’”
She shakes her head, bewildered even now almost thirty years later. “I never told him my name. I’ve never seen him again, to thank him. He left before I could say anything. Before I could even find my voice, he was gone.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Hunter asks, his voice a little stronger.
“Your father was adamant you never find out.” Abby looks at the unlit fireplace, her face pulled down in sadness. “I thought I saw the man once after that. But I was under sedation, so I’m probably wrong.”
“What happened?”
“When you were four, you got really sick. I had just found out I was pregnant with your little brother, Chase. We had to take you to the hospital. They thought you might have some kind of genetic disorder, so both your father and I were tested, too.”
“You didn’t have a genetic disorder, but some kind of mutated virus that was doing weird things to your insides. I don’t remember the name of it anymore, but all the stress put me in the hospital bed next to you. The doctors were running out of options to treat you.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” Hunter says quietly.
“Thank God. It was horrible. You could barely keep your eyes open, your skin looked like you’d been dipped in yellow and green dye. Even your hair began changing colors.”
“I thought you said my hair changed to this,” he waves his hands at his head, “when I was six months old. You said you even have pictures of it.”
Abby bites at her lower lip, her eyes filling with tears. “That was Franklin’s idea too. We only have a couple pictures of you as an infant and toddler. Your father destroyed the rest after he found out.”
“After he found out what? I don’t understand, Mom.”
“Once the hospital ran the genetic tests, it was discovered Franklin wasn’t biologically related to you,” Abby says quietly, her voice strained.
Hunter just looks at her, his face slack, a bruised look in his eyes.
I lean harder against his side, trying to take some of his pain and confusion. I brush my mind against his, a light caress of energy. His body sinks against mine, his energy swirling and twining through my own.
“Franklin’s not my dad. Is that why he left after Chase died?” Hunter asks, his voice grim.
Abby nods, her eyes once again overflowing with tears. Reggie pulls her against his body
, her head tucked against his shoulder and neck as sobs wrack her frame.
My heart goes out to her. The man who promised to love her in good times and bad hit the road running when it turns out she lost the son he thought was his. They both must have been heartbroken.
“If Franklin’s not my father, then who is?”
“I have no idea. I was always faithful to your…Franklin. Maybe the specimen got switched at the last IVF clinic, maybe they gave me someone else’s sperm. I have no idea,” Abby grieves, her voice muffled against Reggie’s shoulder. “We fought about it constantly, but I couldn’t prove a negative. He would start using his lawyer voice and treating me like a hostile witness on the stand, constantly badgering me and putting words in my mouth.”
“I remember the fights and the icy stares from him after Chase didn’t make it. The way he would look at me. I thought he thought it was my fault Chase died,” Hunter admits, his voice rough.
“Oh baby, no! Never think that.” Abby wrenches away from Reggie and steps over to Hunter. He stands up and wraps his arms around her, each of them devastated in different ways.
Abby’s slim body shudders as more tears and cries leave her already stressed body. Reggie and I look at each other, our own feelings of ineptitude easy to see. He gives me a sad smile before pushing out of his chair.
He moves to Hunter and Abby, murmuring to her as he passes. I’m not sure she understood, or even heard, what he said. But Hunter nods, and grips his hand fiercely before Reggie leaves the room quietly.
“I need you, Socks.”
“I’m right here. What do you need?”
“Can you ease some of Mom’s suffering? She’s drowning in it and I can’t find the right way to help her.” His mental voice is strained and rough with his inability to soothe his mom.
“Of course. Give me a second.”
He brushes against my mind like a warm blanket on a cold, wintry day.
I open my mind to Abby. The force of her grief and sorrow blast at me like I’ve stepped into a sandstorm naked. My heart wrenches and my lungs seize as I try to bear up under the onslaught. Erecting a thin barrier so I can think clearly, I heave a breath as my lungs finally expand.
