by Amira Rain
Mutely, I nodded, feeling as if the room had started to spin slightly.
Mark pulled out his phone, called Nolan, and told him to please come on in, and soon, a tall, well-built man with strawberry blond hair entered the kitchen. Mark introduced us, and Nolan had a seat at the table, saying that he wished we could have met under more pleasant circumstances.
Starting to feel as if I were in some strange dream, or maybe a nightmare was more like it, I somehow managed to tell Nolan it was fine, drawing strength from the feel of Mark's hand holding mine. "I appreciate you coming here to tell me whatever you have to tell me. I just want to know the truth."
In very short order, I heard the truth, all of it. Dylan wasn't really a resurrectionist; he'd just claimed to be in order to use me. It was a pretty well-known joke in Angel circles, how Dylan had tricked the "Gifted girl" with a promise to resurrect her murdered family, a family that he himself had authorized the killing of. The guards at the jail where Nolan had been held prisoner had frequently talked and laughed about the whole thing.
After apologizing to me for what he'd had to tell me, Nolan fell silent, and when I was finally able to speak, I had just one question. "If he's not really a resurrectionist, then how did he kill a cat and bring it back to life? I saw him do it...I saw him with my very own eyes."
Nolan winced, then swallowed before speaking. "That's an Angel parlor trick. They're all able to resurrect small animals...but only true resurrectionists can bring human beings back from the dead. And I know for certain that’s not Dylan. That's not any of the Angel sorcerers right now. From what I heard, the only Angel ever able to resurrect humans was Alistair Jordan...who has been dead himself for years."
"But...but Dylan never lied. He never lied about anything else. I saw him keeping promises to his men...even to his wives. How is it that he...how come...."
I was starting to have a hard time organizing my thoughts, and turning those thoughts into words.
Seeming to sense that I couldn't continue, Nolan told me that he was sorry, but Dylan had obviously had no problem lying to me and tricking me. "From what I could gather, he does shoot straight with anyone he considers a true part of his Angel group. Unfortunately, it seems that he just never saw you as that...maybe because he's so used to seeing all Gifteds as enemies, since the Angels don't have any of their own."
I'd heard enough. Now I wanted to be alone. Not to cry, though. Strangely, I felt almost devoid of emotion, devoid of pain. I just felt numb. And I wanted to be alone while this numbness had a hold on me.
"Mark, can you please...please just let me go back to the bedroom now, without trying to stop me or follow me? I know you care, but I...I need to be by myself right now."
Surprisingly, though I'd never seen his eyes so full of pain, Mark just dipped his head in a nod. After mumbling a thank you to Nolan, I got up from the table, padded down to the bedroom, and shut myself in.
For the entire day, I remained numb. In bed, I just stared up at the ceiling, feeling nothing. Mark brought me food, but I didn't eat it. He asked me if I wanted him to hold me, but I didn't answer. He asked if I wanted him to bring in Rocky for me, and I didn't answer that question, either. My very mouth felt numb and leaden, as if it wouldn't work to form words even if I tried to make it do so.
As if I'd set an alarm clock for them or something, my tears began at seven o' clock exactly, flooding down my cheeks in hot rivers, melting the numbness in my face. Then the sensation of having feeling again spread down my entire body.
When Mark came in, I was destroying his room, overturning chairs and nightstands, and ripping curtains off the windows, screaming. Unlike my last tantrum, though, this time he didn't restrain me. He just sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with his sad eyes. Then, when my rage was finally spent, he pulled me onto his lap and into his arms, and he smoothed my hair while I cried against his chest.
My tears had been dry for several minutes when he spoke in the softest, quietest voice I'd ever heard him use, a mere whisper near my ear.
"Sometimes we can't go back. We can only go forward."
After thinking for a few moments, I responded without lifting my face from his chest. "I'll go forward. But not until I've had revenge."
*
For days, Mark and I argued about whether or not I should fight if and when Dylan finally attacked North Haven with all his fighters again. Mark's argument against me fighting was that in a highly emotional state, as I'd surely be in when seeing Dylan, I could become an easy target for him and his men, possibly getting myself killed. At the very least, Mark thought I had a good chance of getting injured, like Christy had.
My argument for me fighting was simply that I wanted revenge. Plain and simple. I just wanted to kill Dylan. Just wanted to wipe him right off the face of the earth. With my emotional state having returned to at least semi-normal, I was pretty sure I could do it without becoming a liability during the fight.
But still, Mark kept saying that he didn't want me anywhere near the battlefield, if and when there was another battle where Dylan was present. "It's just too dangerous, Paulina. Even if you feel calm and in control right now, you have no idea how you'll feel when seeing Dylan face-to-face again. You could become so enraged that you become careless, making yourself an easy target for his Angels and shifters. Not to mention him."
On day four, I told Mark I didn't want to talk about the issue anymore, so we didn't for the rest of the day.
On day five, he started back up with trying to talk me out of fighting again, right during breakfast, no less, and soon after, I left the house to go visit Christy, who was still convalescing from her burns, one of which was at least the size of a deck of cards, large enough so that it really affected mobility in her shoulder.
Over coffee in her sunlit kitchen, she pulled her top to one side, revealing the large white bandage covering her shoulder. "See this? You want one, too? Now that the nerves are growing back, it hurts like hell. I've had to take two painkillers already today. And all you've got to do to get your own painful burn like this is just ignore Mark, be as dumb and reckless as I was, and join a battle that you have no business being in."
I groaned, dropping my face to my hands. "Not you, too. He got to you, didn't he? Mark. What, did he call you right before I came over here or something?"
"No. He called me yesterday."
"God."
"That's right...you're going to be calling out for God on the battlefield when the sight of Dylan has you so wound up that you can't even properly defend yourself from zaps."
Lifting my face from my hands, I sighed. "Don't you think I have a right to take revenge on a man who authorized the murder of my entire family, then tricked me into wasting three years of my life thinking he could resurrect them?"
Now Christy sighed herself, with her expression becoming one of extreme seriousness. "Of course. Of course I think you have every right to take revenge. I think you have every right to want it, deep in your bones, after what Dylan did to you. But that still doesn't mean I think you should join in any future fight where Dylan is present...or any of the Angels in his group for that matter."
"Why not?"
"Should I quote Mark verbatim or just use my own words? Here...I'll use both our words. It's just too dangerous, Paulina. You're going to get worked up into a frenzied emotional state, and you're going to get hurt like I did, or worse. End of story. And just so we're clear, I'm not just saying all this because Mark asked me to try to make you see sense. I'm saying all this because I truly agree with him.
“Even if he didn't feel the same, instead urging you to go out and fight, I'd still be trying to talk you out of it. After what I just went through, I just don't want the same thing to happen to you. No one needs three huge scars all over their body, which is exactly what I'm going to have once all my burns finally heal."
I began sipping my coffee, thinking. I definitely didn't want to sustain burns like Christy's, or worse, but I just couldn't see
not trying to kill Dylan. It was as if this objective had replaced the one I'd had for so long, the one that had almost seemed to have become part of the fabric of my very being. Which was, of course, my objective to complete my contract with Dylan and get my family back. Now my new objective was practically all I could think about.
At the same time, though, I had to concede that at times, I maybe wasn't the most emotionally stable person in the world. My two wild meltdowns since arriving in North Haven were testaments of that. Still, I couldn't help but feel that if I bent my will toward the task, I could manage to remain just cool, calm, and collected enough to help take Dylan off the face of the earth.
I was just sorry that I wouldn't be able to directly kill him myself, no matter how badly I wanted to. A shifter would have to decapitate him in order to kill him, but I felt like I could at least "kill" him in my own way, zapping him repeatedly until he fell unconscious, ready for a shifter to swoop in and finish him off. Even though he'd be unconscious, I hoped it would somehow still be painful for him. I wanted him to feel the pain that my family had felt when they were being murdered. I wanted him to feel my pain at their permanent loss.
I soon left Christy's when Nolan arrived home from running morning patrol. With as much time as he and Christy had spent apart, I figured they probably wanted to spend all their free time together, just the two of them, for a good long while.
That evening, during dinner, Mark brought up the issue of me fighting again, as I'd somehow known he would. An argument ensued. The same one we'd had at least ten different times already.
Finally after several minutes of both of us speaking with slightly raised voices, I told Mark that we needed to stop. "We're giving Rocky the trembles."
Sitting over in the corner, watching Mark and me, he had begun to shake slightly, just enough that I could see it from across the room.
Tossing his balled-up napkin onto his plate, Mark sighed. "Fine. You know my position on the battle issue, and I know yours. And though this may surprise you, I'm not going to stop you from fighting if this is something you decide you really want to do. All I ask is that you think long and hard about your decision, Paulina. I'll protect you on the battlefield as best as I possibly can, but I can't guarantee that I'll be near you at all times."
"That's fine. I can defend myself."
Mark just looked at me for a long moment before responding. "The choice is yours. And let’s leave it at that. Spend some time really thinking things through, and please let me know your decision as soon as you make one. Adding to the frustration and desperation he's probably been feeling, I'm sure Dylan is enraged by the fact that Nolan was able to escape from his Angel-controlled jail.
“Because of this, I think Dylan is going to launch one final attack on our village soon. And I say final not because I think he's one for giving up, but because I'm going to make it the final battle with him. I'm tired of all these constant attacks lately, and I'm ready to send Dylan and all his fighters back to hell, where they belong."
I definitely liked the sound of that, and although I realized that Mark could probably accomplish that himself, thereby getting revenge on my behalf in a way, I couldn't help but feel that I wanted to be a part of it. I'd felt that I couldn't go on with my life with any sense of peace if I didn't at least try to have my family resurrected, I now felt that I wouldn't have any peace unless I had some direct part in sending Dylan back to hell, as Mark had said.
I gave Mark the courtesy of at least further mulling things over for another day before giving him my final decision, even though I'd pretty much known full well what my decision was going to be. When I approached him in the kitchen early that evening around six and bluntly told him that I'd decided to fight, he didn't look surprised at all, just resigned.
Seeming to have just finished reading a text or taking a call, he hit the lock screen button on his phone, then put the phone in his jeans pocket. "Well, you've made your decision at the right time. That was Nolan. Our scouts have observed the Angels sweeping in from the north. They say it looks like every last one of them."
*
With over two hundred North Haven fighters following behind us, I rode atop Mark's broad, golden-furred back for at least a mile north, gripping his thick mane in both hands, until we reached a wide clearing where he'd decided we'd meet the Angel fighters in combat.
After dismounting, I pressed my lips to his head. "I love you. Please don't worry about me, because I'll be fine. You just worry about everyone else."
Even as I'd said the words, I'd realized how ridiculous they sounded. There was no way in hell Mark was simply going to worry about everyone else. He'd told me as much at home, saying that he was going to be watching me "like a hawk." He'd then pulled me into his arms and had squeezed me so tightly I'd had to tell him that I could barely breathe.
Now in lion form, he gave me a look that seemed like a human expression it was so clear in its meaning. It was a look that told me that he thought I was nuts for even suggesting that he not worry about me. However, as we'd previously agreed, he soon went to get in formation with his pride, while I went to join my fellow Gifteds a short distance away.
Britt had recently been designated interim leader of the Gifteds while Kim, the regular leader, continued recovering from a broken ankle sustained while jumping into a deceptively shallow lake with a stony bed. This would be Britt's first battle filling in for Kim, and I could tell she was experiencing a bit of nerves, frequently glancing at her watch, as if the Angels had arranged to meet us all and do battle at a precise time.
I definitely couldn't blame Britt for her nerves, though. I was experiencing some myself. However, I was still feeling quite sane, not at all like I was about to fly off into some sort of blind rage that would make me careless. In fact, despite the butterflies in my stomach, I was really feeling not a whole lot different than how I usually felt before fights. Not overly wired, but “up" enough that I felt I could get the job done. I felt ready. I felt fairly confident. I was ready to have revenge on Dylan for all the lies he'd told me, and all the years he'd completely used me.
After moving a few of us Gifteds around, into the precise fighting formation that she wanted us in, periodically checking her watch even as she did so, Britt came to a stop beside me and spoke in a low voice. "You nervous?"
"A little. Not bad, though. However, I'll be feeling even better if you tell me that your watch is rigged to a bomb that's going to blow all the Angels sky high once they step out into the clearing."
Looking straight ahead at the line of trees across the clearing, Britt stifled a laugh. "Oh, how I wish that were the case. But, unfortunately, no...just an annoying nervous habit."
With a low hum of conversation all around us, we both fell silent, both of us now looking at the trees.
Then, after several moments, Britt spoke again. "I wish my first fight as Gifted leader didn't have to happen on a day that's so damn hot."
It was hot. It was sweltering, actually, despite the fact that it was early evening, and the sun was beginning to sink.
Britt started to say something else, but she quickly cut herself off with a gasp. "Here we go. They're in the dark spaces between the trees. Can you see them?"
I actually couldn't yet, and I shook my head. "Where are they exactly?"
"Everywhere."
Just then, I did see them, hundreds of silvery forms with glowing red eyes, all of them hovering a foot or so above the ground. Even for a person who used to fight alongside them, they made quite an eerie sight.
"Now I see them. Try to relax and stay cool, Britt. You're going to do fine."
"I was going to say the exact same thing to you."
The Angels and their shifters soon charged, and our North Haven formations charged out to meet them. Zapping with both palms even as I ran, I dropped two Angels before the fight had even begun in earnest. Then, the moment it did, I dropped two more Angels in rapid succession, hoping that the rest of the fight would be as eas
y as this auspicious start.
For the first half-hour or so, I fought well, staying sharp, focused, and reasonably calm. Now zapping to seriously injure and set my enemies up for kills for the first time ever, I found it liberating, zapping Angels and their shifters repeatedly until they seized on the ground with smoke billowing from their iridescent robes.
Several shifters that I felled were killed almost immediately, two by Mark, one a lion and one a wolf.
While the battle continued to rage, I noticed him glancing my way a lot. So much, in fact, that a few times, he was zapped by Angel fire because he'd become distracted. Wanting to show him that I had it all together and I didn't need to be babysat, I fought harder, glancing over at him each time I dropped an enemy, just to be sure that he'd seen it. All I wanted was for him to just worry about himself so that he wouldn't get hurt.
Soon, though, I became preoccupied by something else. I hadn't yet seen Dylan, and I wondered if it was possible he'd remained behind in New Bad Axe, like a coward. No longer having me as a personal bodyguard, I wondered if he'd decided not to take part in battles anymore, instead just having his men do his dirty work. I certainly wouldn't put it past him. By now I knew that he was only about himself and his own interests, protecting his own life at all costs.
